
















* 


































— 

THE STUDENT’S HANDBOOK 

OF 




With Selections from the Writings 


O F 

THE MOST DISTINGUISHED AUTHORS. 

By the Rev. OrL! Jenkins, A.M., S.S., 

Late President of St. Charles' College , EUicott City , Md. 


jhted by Rev. G. E. Viger, A.M., S.S. 

Ca ' v ^x r \ 

1894 i 




i GOT 



EIGHTH EDITIO. 


/pH) & f * 


BALTIMORE: 

Published by John Murphy & Co. 
1894. 





tr<?£ 

,T < +- 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, 

By P. P. DENIS, President of St. Charles ’ College, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, 

By G. E. VIGER, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION. 




In presenting to the public the eighth edition of 
Jenkins’ Handbook, we are glad to thank the friends 
that have hitherto encouraged our efforts. Father 
Jenkins, had his life been spared, would rejoice in the 
result of his labors. Whilst he was president of this 
college, being charged with a class of English literature, 
he felt the necessity of preparing a safe text-book for 
Catholic students, and he generously put his own hand 
to the work. Fie had not completed his task when he 
was called to his reward, in 1869. - The care of pre¬ 
paring his MS. for publication was committed to the 
present editor, who, hampered by other duties, delayed 
the first edition till 1876. Since that time we have 
tried, in successive editions, to keep the work up to 
date. Our object being rather to form the student’s 
taste than to give a list of writers, authors whose works 
are for the most part scientific are necessarily excluded. 
All that is needed in a text-book like ours is to call 
attention to the masterpieces of English literature, with 
a bit of biography and criticism of their authors. As 
the professor will enlarge upon the matter of the text, 
and point out more fully the merits of each author, 
the student’s curiosity will naturally lead him to the 

iii 





IV 


PREFACE. 


writers themselves. By inserting minor sketches at the 
end of each period, we may seem in some measure to 
have departed from our plan; but the difference of 
treatment with regard to these authors will, we think, 
but prove our rule. 

In ^conclusion, we wish to acknowledge our in¬ 
debtedness for assistance or counsel to Fairfax J. 
McLaughlin, Esq., to the late Rt. Rev. J. A. Cor¬ 
coran, D. D., to the Very Rev. A. F. Hewit, C. S. P., 
as well as to some of our co-laborers in this college. 

G. E. Viger. 

St. Charles’ College, Ellicott City, Md., 

July 2, 1894. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Preface, . iii 

Table of Contents, . v 

Chronological Table of contemporaneous rulers 

AND WRITERS,. x iii 

Table of Classified Languages, . X xi 


PART I. 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 

FIRST PERIOD. 


Old Saxon or Anglo-Saxon Period, 449-1006. 


The most ancient inhabitants of Britain,. 

The primitive Saxons,.... 

Invasion of Britain by the Saxons,. 

Origin of the English language,. 

Subdivision of the Old Saxon Period,. 

Arrival of St. Augustine in England,. 

Speech of an Anglo-Saxon thane,. 

The Lord’s Prayer in Saxon,. 

Characteristics of Anglo-Saxon Poetry,. 

Learning of the Anglo-Saxons,. 

The most distinguished men of this period,.. 

Literature of Ireland,... 

St. Gildas the Wise,. 

Caedmon,. 

St. Aldlielm,... 

Venerable Bede,. 

Alcuin,... 

Alfred the Great, ... 

Anglo-Saxon literature after Alfred; iElfric, the Gramma¬ 
rian; the Last Years of the Period,. 

Lost writings; what remains; general characteristics .of 
the Period,.%. 


1 

3 

4 


(3 


9 

11 

12 

13 

15 

17 

18 
21 
24 

27 


j 


v 


30 


GO GO 



























VI 


CONTENTS. 


SECOND PERIOD. 


Semi-Saxon, os Transition Period, 10GG-1250. 


PAGE 


The Normans,. 

The Battle of Hastings, and the beginning of the Norman 

dynasty,. 

Influence of the Norman-Frencli on the mother tongue,... 

The Trouveres and the Troubadours,. 

The Semi-Saxon language,. 

Effects of the preservation of the Latin language,. 

The Monasteries,. 

Ancient Libraries,. 

Curriculum of a liberal education,.. 

Universities,... 

The Scholastic Method,. 

Lanfranc,... 

St. Anselm,. 

John of Salisbury,.. 

Other Learned Prelates—Cardinal Langton, St. Edmund, 

Grosseteste,. 

The Historians and Rhyming Chroniclers—Ingulf, Florence 
and John of Worcester, Orderiens Vitalis, William of 

Malmesbury,.. 

Henry of Huntingdon, Roger de Hoveden, Roger of Wendover, 
Giraldus Cambrensis, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Wace, Lay¬ 
amon, ... 

The Ormulum,. 

The Ancren Riwle,. 


31 

32 

33 

33 

34 

35 
3G 

37 

38 

40 

41 

42 

43 
45 

4G 


4G 


47 

48 

49 


THIRD PERIOD. 

Old English or Early English Period, 1250-1350. 

Old English,. 49 

Proclamation of Henry III,. 50 

Roger Bacon,. 51 

Metrical Romances,. 52 

Historians—Nicholas Trivet, Ranulph Higden,. 54 

Rhyming Chroniclers—-Robert of Gloucester, Robert Man¬ 
ny ng,... 54 

Minor Poets—Adam Davie, Robert Boston, Richard Rolle,. 55 


























CONTENTS, 


vii 

FOURTH PERIOD. 

The Middle English Period, 1350-1580. 

PAGE 

Further changes in the form of the language,. 56 

Growing importance of literature,. 57 

Sir John Mandeville,. 58 

Geoffrey Chaucer,. 61 

John Gower,.—. 73 

John Lydgate,. 75 

William Caxton,. 77 

Blessed Thomas More,. 78 

Roger Aschain,. 82 

Scotch Writers—Barbour, James I. of Scotland, Robert Henry- 

son, Gawin Douglas, William Dunbar, Sir David Lindsay, 85 
Other Writers of the Fourth Period—Lawrence Minot, William 
Langlande, John Wyclif, Blessed John Fisher, Sir Thomas 
Wyatt, Sir Thomas Elyot, Henry Howard, John Leland,,.. 87 
Lost Writings,. 90 

FIFTH PERIOD. 

The Modern English Period, 1580-1885. 

The mistake of attributing the extraordinary intellectual 
development of this period to the Protestant Reforma¬ 
tion,. .. v . 91 

Real causes of human progress and literary improvement 
in the modern period,. 99 

section the first 

The Augustan Age,. 103 

Robert Southwell,. 103 

Edmund Spenser,. 109 

Thomas Sackville,. 115 

The early drama and dramatists,. 118 

William Shakespeare, . 120 

Francis Bacon, Viscount St. Albans,. 136 

Ben Jonson,. 141 

Translation of the Bible, .,. 146 

Annals of the Four Masters, . 146 

Other Writers—Nicholas Sander, . 147 

Edmund Campion, Sir Philip Sidney, Christopher Marlowe, 
Richard Hooker,.. . 148 


























CONTENTS. 


viii 


PAGE 

Robert Parsons, Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Sir 
Walter Raleigh, William Camden, Michael Drayton, 


Henry Constable,. 149 

George Herbert, Robert Burton, Philip Massinger,. 150 


SECTION THE SECOND. 


Transition Period,. 150 

Richard Crashaw,. 151 

Abraham Cowley,. 153 

John Milton,. 158 

Samuel Butler,. 171 

John Bunyan,. 176 

John Drydon, . 177 

Other Writers—Habington, Sir Kenelm Digby, James Shir¬ 
ley, . 186 

Jeremy Taylor, Sir William Davenant, Sir John Denham, 

Robert Herrick, Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon,.... 187 
Sir Thomas Browne, Isaak Walton, Thomas Otway, Ed¬ 
mund Waller,. 188 


SECTION THE THIRD. 

The Classical Age,. 

Joseph Addison,. 

Sir Richard Steele,... 

Daniel Defoe,... 

Alexander Pope, . 

Jonathan Swift,. 

James Thomson,. 

William Collins,. 

Edward Young,.. 

Thomas Gray,. 

Letters of Junius,. 

Oliver Goldsmith,. 

David Hume,. 

Samuel Johnson,. 

William Robertson,. 

Edward Gibbon,. 

Robert Burns,. 

Edmund Burke,. 

William Cowper, .. 


188 

190 

196 

201 

206 

214 

220 

225 

231 

235 

240 

242 

248 

253 

261 

263 

268 

272 

276 
































CONTENTS. 


IX 


TAGE 


Other Writers—Gilbert Burnett, Robert South, Thomas Par¬ 
nell, John Gay, Richard Bentley,. 281 

Henry Fielding, Allan Ramsay, William Shenstone, Samuel 
Richardson, Laurence Sterne, Mark Akenside, Thomas 

Chatterton,. 282 

Tobias G. Smollett, Aiban Butler, Richard Challoner,. 283 

Horace Walpole,. 284 


SECTION THE FOURTH. 


The Nineteenth Century,. 284 

John Keats,. 287 

Percy Bysshe Shelley,. 289 

George Gordon, Lord Byron,. 293 

Sir Walter Scott,.... 299 

On Novels and Novel-reading,. 306 

George Crabbe,. 309 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge,. 312 

Charles Lamb,. 317 

Robert Southey,. 319 

Thomas Campbell,. 325 

Sydney Smith,. 330 

William Wordsworth,. 334 

Francis, Lord Jeffrey, . 340 

John Lingard,. 344 

Thomas Moore,. 349 

Henry Llallam,. 356 

Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay,. 359 

William Makepeace Thackeray,. 362 

Frederick William Faber,. 366 

Nicholas Patrick, Cardinal Wiseman,. 370 

Charles Dickens,. 375 

Sir Edward Bulwer-Lvtton,. 380 

T. W. M. Marshall,..!. 382 

George Eliot,. 386 

Thomas Carlyle,. 390 

John Henry, Cardinal Newman,. 393 

Henry Edward, Cardinal Manning,. 398 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson,. 403 

Thomas William Allies,. 409 

Aubrey de Vere,. 413 

John Ruskin,. 416 






































X 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Other Writers—James Beattie,. 419 

James Macpherson, Richard Brinsley B. Sheridan,. 420 

Miss Jane Austen, Or. John Milner, William Hazlitt, William 

Roscoe,. 421 

Charles Butler, James Doyle, James Hogg, Mrs. Felicia He- 

mans, Gerald Griffin,.. . 422 

Thomas Arnold, John Banim, Thomas Hood, Thomas Davis,... 423 
Frederick Captain Marry att, Miss Maria Edgeworth, Miss Jane 
Porter, Richard Lalor Sheil, James Montgomery, John 

Wilson,. 424 

Samuel Rogers, Charlotte Bronte, Leigh Hunt, Thomas de 

Quincey, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning,. 425 

Eugene O’Curry, Walter Savage Landor, Miss Adelaide Anne 
Procter, Sir William Napier, John Keble, Sir Archibald 

Alison,.. 426 

Bryan Waller Procter, Samuel Lover, William Carleton, Charles 

Lever, George Grote, Harriet Martineau,. 427 

Kenelm Digby, Benjamin Disraeli, Denis Florence MacCarthy, 428 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Christina Georgina Rossetti, Lady 

Georgiana Fullerton, Sir Henry Taylor, Matthew Arnold, 429 

Robert Browning,. 430 

Lady Herbert of Lea, Coventry Patmore,. 431 

William Morris, Algernon Charles Swinburne,. 432 

Robert Louis Stevenson, Rudyard Kipling,. 433 


FART II. 

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 

FIRST PERIOD. 

The Colonial Era, 1607-1761. 

Character of the Period.. 435 

The first book published in America,. 436 

George Sandys,. 437 

Roger Williams,. 438 

Michael Wigglesworth,. 439 

James Logan,. 440 

Cadwallader Colden,. 441 






















CONTENTS. 


XI 


SECOND PERIOD. 

The Revolutionary Period, 1761-1800. 

PAGE 

The Literary Character of the Period,. 442 

James Otis,. 444 

Benjamin Franklin,. 445 

Francis Hopkinson,. 452 

Jeremy Belknap,. 453 

Alexander Hamilton,. 454 

David Ramsay,. 455 

Hugh Henry Brackenridge,. 456 

Thomas Jefferson,. 458 

John Jay,. 463 

John Trumbull,. 465 

Philip Freneau,. 467 

James Madison,. 469 

THIRD PERIOD. 

The Present Century. 

Character of the Period,.'. 471 

Charles Brockden Brown,. 473 

Joseph Dennie,. 474 

William Wirt,. .. 475 

John Marshall,. 476 

James Hillhouse,. 478 

John England,. 479 

Washington Allston,. 482 

Edgar Allan Poe,. 484 

John Calhoun,. . 488 

James Fenimore Cooper,. 489 

Daniel Webster,. 494 

Lydia Huntley Sigourney,. 499 

William H. Prescott,. 503 

Washington Irving,. 506 

Robert Walsh,. 510 

James K. Paulding,. 512 

Nathaniel Hawthorne,.:. 517 

Fitz-Greene Hal leek,. 521 

Jared Sparks,. 524 

George Ticknor,. 525 




































XII 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Martin John Spalding,. 528 

Orestes A. Brownson,. . 530 

William Cullen Bryant,. 535 

Richard Henry Dana,... 540 

Ralph Waldo Emerson,. 541 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,. 544 

Isaac Thomas Hecker,. 551 

George Bancroft,. 553 

Francis Parkman,.... 556 

Other Writers—Mathew Carey,. 

Joseph Hopkinson, Francis Scott Key, Hugh Swinton Legare, 

Henry Clay,. 558 

John Howard Payne, Jedediah Vincent Huntington, John 

Hughes,. 559 

John Boyce, Xavier Donald McLeod, Charles Constantine Pise, 

Levi Silliman Ives, Thomas d’Arcy McGee,. 560 

James McSherry, John Pendleton Kennedy, William Gilmore 

Simms, Henry Theodore Tuckerman, George Henry Miles, 561 
James F. Meline, John Lothrop Motley, Edmund Bailey 

O’Callaghan, Sidney Lanier,. 562 

Edwin Perry Whipple, Abram J. Ryan,. 563 

John Boyle O’Reilly, John Greenleaf Whittier, James Russell 

Lowell,. 564 

John Gilmary Shea, Brother Azarins,. 565 

Severn Teackle Wallis, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Harriet Beecher 

Stowe, Mrs. Anna Hanson Dorsey,. 566 

Augustine F Hewitt, Mrs. Mary A. Sadlier, Miss Mary Agnes 

Thicker,....*. 567 

James Ryder Randall, James Kent Stone, James Lancaster 
Spalding, Francis Marion Crawford,. 568 






















CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 


OF CONTEMPORANEOUS RULERS AND WRITERS. 


I. British Literature. 


A.D. 

Anglo-Saxon Occupation, 449 
First Danish Invasion,.. . 7S7 

Egbert, First King of all 

England,. 827-838 

Danish Kings,. 1017-1041 

Edward III., the Con¬ 
fessor,. 1041-1068 

Norman Dynasty. 

REIGNED FROM 

William I., the Con¬ 
queror,. 1066-1087 

William II., Rufus,. 1087-1100 
Henry I., Beauclerc, 1100-1135 

House of Beois. 
Stephen,. 1135-1154 

Plant ag enets. 

Henry II.,. 1154-1189 


Richard I., Occur de 


Lion,. 1189-1199 

John, Lackland,.... 1199-1216 

Henry HI.,. 1216 1272 

Edward I.,. 1272-1307 

Edward II.,. . 1307-1327 


WRITERS. DEATH. 

Gildas,. 565 (?) 

Caedmon,. 680 

St. Aldlielm,. 709 

Yen. Bede,. 735 

Alcuin,. 804 

Alfred the Great,_ 901 

JElfric,. 1006 


Lan franc,. 1089 

St. Anselm,. 1109 

Ingulf. 1109 


Wm. of Malmesbury,. 1143 
Drdericus Vitalis, ah. 1150 


Henry of Hunting¬ 
don,.ab. 1155 

Geoffrey of Mon¬ 
mouth, .ab. 11S0 

John of Salisbury,.. .. 1182 
Wace,.* .ab. 1184 


Layamon,.ab. 1200 

Orm,.ab. 1200 

Roger de Iloveden, ab. 1205 
Giraldns Carnbrensis,... 1217 
Roger of Wendover,... 1237 

Roger Bacon,. 1294 

Robert of Gloucester, 

ab. 1300 

Robert Mannyng, ab... 1310 
Adam Davie, 14th cent. 
Robert Baston, 14th cent. 


xiii 






























XIV 


TABLE OF BRITISH LITERATURE. 


REIGNED FROM 

Edward III.,. 1327-1377 


Richard II.,. 1377-1399 


House of Lancaster. 
Henry IV.,..... 1399-1413 

Henry V.,. 1413-1422 

Henry VI.,. 1422-1461 

House of York. 

Edward IV.,. 1461-1483 

Edward V.,. 1483-1483 

Richard III.,. 1483-1485 


WRITERS. DEATH. 

Trivet,. 1328 

Richard Rolle,. . 1348 

Higden,. 1360 

Minot,. 1360 

William or Robert Lang- 


lande,. .. 


1370 

Sir John de Mandeville. 


1372 

John Wvclif,. 


1384 

Barbour,. 


1395 

Geoffrey Chaucer,. 


1400 

John Gower,. 


1402 

John Lydgate,. 


1430 

James I. of Scotland,.. 


1436 

Blind Harry,. 


1480 


IIouse of Tudor. 


Henry VII.,. 1485-1509 

Henry VIII.,. 1509-1547 

Edward VI,. 1547-1553 

Mary. 1553-1558 

Elizabeth,. 1558-1603 


House of Stuart. 
James 1.,. 1603-1625 


Charles I.,... --- 1625-1649 


William Caxton, . 1492 

Robert Henryson,.ab. 1507 

Gawin Douglas,. 1522 

William Dunbar,. 1530 

Sir Thomas More,. 1535 

Earl of Surrey,. 1547 

Sir David Lindsay,. 1555 

Roger Ascham,. 1568 

Nicholas Sander,. 1581 

Edmund Campion,....... 1581 

Sir Philip Sidney,. 1586 

Christopher Marlowe,_ 1593 

Robert Southwell,. 1595 

Edmund Spenser,. 1599 

Richard Hooker,. 1600 

Thomas Sackville,. 1608 

Francis Beaumont,. 1615 

William Shakespeare,.... 1616 

Robert Parsons,. 1616 

Sir Walter Raleigh,. 1618 

William Camden,. 1623 

John Fletcher,- . _ 1625 

Lord Bacon,. 1626 

Henry Constable,_ ab. 1680 

Michael Drayton,. 1631 

George Herbert,. 1632 





















































TABLE OF BRITISH LITERATURE. 


XV 


REIGNED FROM 


Charles I., . 1625-1649 


Commonwealth,. 1649-1653 

Oliver Cromwell, Pro¬ 
tector, . 1653-1658 

Richard Cromwell, 

Protector,. 1658 

Commonwealth,. 1658-1660 

Restoration of the 
Stuarts. 

Charles II.,. 1660-1685 


James II.,. 1685-1688 

William III. and 

Mary II.,.. 1689-1695 

William III., alone,. 1695-1702 
Anne,. 1702-1714 

House of Hanover. 
George!.,. 1714-1727 


George II.,.......... 1727-1760 


George III.,. 1760-1829 


WRITERS. DEATH. 

Ben Jonson,. 1637 

Robert Burton,.. 1640 

Philip Massinger,. 1640 

Michael O’Clery,.,.ab. 1645 

Richard Crashaw,.1650 

William Habington, ... .. 1654 


Sir Kehelm Digby, . 1665 

James Shirley,.. 1666 

Abraham Cowley,.. _ 1667 

Jeremy Taylor,. 1667 

Sir William Davenant,.... 1668 

Sir John Denham,. 1668 

John Milton,. 1674 

Robert Herrick,.. 1674 

Earl of Clarendon,. 1674 

Samuel Butler,. 1680 

Sir Thomas Browne,. 1682 

Isaak Walton.. 1683 

Thomas Otway,. 1685 

Edmund Waller,. 1687 

JohnDryden,. 1700 


Gilbert Burnett, . 1715 

Robert South,. 1716 

Thomas Parnell,. 1718 

John Addison,. 1719 

Sir Richard Steele,. 1729 

Daniel Defoe,. 1731 

John Gay,. 1732 

Richard Bentley,. 1742 

Alexander Pope,. 1744 

Jonathan Swift,. 1745 

James Thomson,. 1748 

Henry Fielding,—•. 1754 

William Collins,. 1756 

Allan Ramsay,. 1758 

William Shenstone,. 1763 

Edward Young,. 1765 

Samuel Richardson,. 1767 

Laurence Sterne,. 1768 





















































XVI 


TABLE OF BRITISH LITERATURE. 


REIGNED FROM 

George III.,. 1760-1820 


George IV.,. 1820-1830 


William IV.,. 1830-1837 


Victoria,,....,. 1837- 


writers. DEATH. 

Mark Akenside, . 1770 

Thomas Chatterton,. 1770 

Thomas Gray,. 1771 

Tobias G. Smollett,. 1771 

Alban Butler,. 1773 

Oliver Goldsmith. 1774 

David Hume. 1776 

Richard Challoner,. 1781 

Samuel Johnson,. 1784 

William Robertson,. 1793 

Edward Gibbon,. 1794 

Edmund Burke,. 1797 

Horace Walpole,. 1797 

William Cowper,. 1800 

James Beattie,. 1803 

James Macplierson,. 1808 

R. B. Sheridan,. 1816 

Miss Austen,. 1817 

John Keats,.1821 

Percy Bysshe Shelley,.... 1822 

Lord Byron,. 1824 

John Milner,. 1826 

William Hazlitt,. 1830 

William Roscoe,. 1831 

Charles Butler,. 1832 

vSir Walter Scott,. 1832 

George Crabbe,. 1832 

Samuel T. Coleridge,. 1834 

Charles Lamb,. 1834 

James Doyle,. 1834 

James Hogg,. 1835 

Mrs. Hemans,. 1835 

Gerald Griffin,. 1840 • 

Thomas Arnold. 1842 

JolinBanim. 1842 

Robert Southey,. 1843 

Thomas Campbell,. 1844 

Sidney Smith,. 1845 

Thomas Hood,. 1845 

Thomas Davis,. 1845 

Captain Marryat,.. 1848 

Miss Edgeworth,. 1849 

William W ordswortli,.... 1850 

Lord Jeffrey,. 1850 

Miss Porter,. 1850 

John Lingard,. 1851 

Richard L. Sheil,. 1851 

Thomas Moore,.. 1852 

James Montgomery,. 1854 

John Wilson,. 1854 

Samuel Rogers,. 1855 

Charlotte Bronte,. 1855 


























































TABLE OF BRITISH LITERATURE. 


XVU 


REIGNED FROM j WRITERS. DEATH. 

\ ictoria,. 1837- | Henry Hallam,. 1859 

| Lord Macaulay,. 1859 

! Leigh Hunt,. 1859 

I I )e Quincey,. 1859 

j Mrs. Browning,. 1861 

Eugene O’Curry,. 1862 

William M. Thackeray,...-. 1863 

Walter S. Landor,. 1864 

Miss Procter,. 1864 

Cardinal Wiseman,. 1865 

Sir William Napier,. 1866 

John Keble. I860 

Sir Archibald Allison,.... 1867 

Barry Cornwall,. 1868 

Samuel Lover,. 1868 

William Carleton,. 18G9 

Charles Dickens,. 1870 

Charles Lever. 1870 

George Grote,.. 1871 

Bulwer Lytton,. 1873 

Miss Martineau,. 1S76 

T. W. M. Marshall,. 1877 

Keneiin Digby,. 1880 

George Eliot,. 1880 

Earl BeaconsfLeld,. 1881 

Thomas Carlyle,. 1881 

D. F. MacCarthy,. 1882 

Dante G. Rossetti,. 1882 

Lady Georgiana Fullerton, 1885 

Sir Henry Taylor,. 1886 

Matthew Arnold,. 1888 

Robert Browning,. 1889 

Cardinal Newman,. 1890 

Cardinal Manning,. 1892 

Alfred Tennyson,. 1892 

Thomas W. Allies. 

Aubrey de Vere. 

Lady Herbert of Lea. 


Coventry ^atmore. 
Christina G. Rossetti. 
William Morris. 
Algernon C. Swinburne. 
Robert L. Stevenson. 
Rudvard Kipling. 






































NV111 


TABLE OF AMERICAN LITERATURE 


II. American Literature. 


Colonial Era. 

GO 

f-i 

Kings of Eng 
land. 

Virginia colonized. 

1607 

James I., 

New York settled by 


1603-1625 

the Dutch . 

1614 


Massachusetts colon¬ 
ized . 

1630 

• 

New Hampshire colon¬ 
ized . 

1633 

Charles I., 

Connecticut colonized. 

1633 

1625-1649 

Maryland colonized.... 

1634 


Rhode Island colon¬ 
ized . 

1636 


Rhode Island Charter 
obtained . 

1644 


Delaware settled by 
Swedes and Finns.... 

1648 


Pennsylvania settled 
by Swedes. 

1643 


New York surrendered 

" 

to the English.. 

1644 

Comm ’n wealth 

New Jersey as a sepa¬ 
rate province from 
New York . 

1664 

1619-1653 
Oliver Crom¬ 
well, Protec¬ 
tor, 1653-1658 

Richard Crom- 

Pennsylvania colonized 
by Perm. 

1681 

well, Protec¬ 
tor, 1658-1660 

Charles II.. 

Georgia colonized. 

1733 

1660-1685 
James II., 

1635-1688 
William ITT, 
and Mary, 
1689-1702 
Anne, 1702-1714 
George I., 

' 1714-1727 
George II., 

1727-1760 

REVOLUTIONARY 

PERIOD. 

Speech of Otis. 

1761 

George III., 

1760-1820 

Passage of Stamp Act. 

1765 

First Colonial Congress 
at New York. 

1765 


Declaration of Inde¬ 
pendence . 

Treaty of alliance with 
France.. 

1776 

1778 


Treaty of Peace with 
Great Britain ratified 

1783 



Colleges 
founded before 
1800. 


Harvard, 1040 


William and 
Mary, 1693 

Yale, 1700 


Princeton, 1746 
Columbia, 1754 
University of 
Pennsylvania, 
1740 

Brown Univer¬ 
sity, 1764 
Dartmouth. 

1769 

Rutgers, 1770 


Dickinson, 1783 
St. John’s, Md., 
1784 


W riters. Date 
of death. 


George Sandys. 

1648 


Roger W i 1- 
liams. Ilk 3 


Wigglesworth, 

170.7 


James Logan, 
1751 


Cadwallader 
Golden, 1776 


James Otis, 


17S3 







































TABLE OF AMERICAN LITERATURE 


XIX 


UNITED STATES. 

First Congress under 
the New Constitution 
met in New York.... 

PRESIDENTS. 

George Washington... 


John Adams 


Thomas Jefferson. 

James Madison. 

James Monroe. 

John Quincy Adams... 
Andrew Jackson. 


M. Van Buren.. 
W. H. Harrison 
John Tyler. 


CO 

u 


1789 


Kings of Eng¬ 
land. 


1789 


1797 


1801 

1809 


18J7 

1827 

18^9 


George TV., 

1820-1830 


William IV., 

1830-1837 


1837 


Victoria, 1837- 


1841 

1841 


Colleges 
founded before 
1800. 


Washington, 
Lexington, 
Va., 1781 
Washington, 
Md., 1783 
Franklin Col¬ 
lege, Athens, 
Ga., 1785 
Franklin and 
Marshal, 1787 
University of 
North Caro¬ 
lina, 1789 
University of 
Vermont, 1791 
Georgetown, 

D. C., 1792 
Bowdoin Col¬ 
lege, Me., 1792 
Williams Col¬ 
lege, Mass., 
1793 

Union College, 
Schenectady, 
N. Y., 1795 
Transylvania 
University, 
Ky., 1798 
St. Mary’s Col¬ 
lege, Balti¬ 
more, 1799 


Writers. Date 
of death. 


Benj. Franklin, 
1790 


Francis IIop- 
kinson, 1791 


Jeremy Bel¬ 
knap, 17'98 


Alexander Ha¬ 
milton, 1804 
Chas. Brockden 
Brown, 1810 
Joseph Dennie, 
1812 

David Ramsay, 
1815 

H. H. Bracken- 
ridge, 181(5 
Thomas Jeffer¬ 
son, 182(5 
John Jay, 1829 
John Trumbull, 

1831 

Philip Freneau, 

1832 

William Wirt, 
1834 

John Marshall, 
183) 

James Madi¬ 
son, 1836 
Matthew C a 
rey. 1139 
James Id i 11- 
house. 1811 
John England, 
1842 





















XX 


TABLE OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Presidents. 


James K. Polk. 

< u Oral Zachary Taylor... 

A iHard Fillmore. 


Franklin Pierce. 
Janies Buchanan 


Abraham Lincoln 


Andrew Johnson 


Ulysses S. Grant. 


Rutherford B. Hayes. 


James Garfield 
Chester Arthur 


Grover Cleveland.. 
Benjamin Harrison 


Grover Cleveland 


U 

P* 

Queen of Eng¬ 
land. 

Writers. 

Date o: 
death. 


Victoria, 183/- 

Joseph Hopkinson. ... 

1842 



Washington AUston.... 

1843 



Francis S. Key. 

1843 



Hugh 8. Legar6. 

1843 

1845 




1849 


Edgar Allen Poe. 

1819 



John Calhoun. 

1850 

1850 


Jas. Fenimore Cooper. 

1851 



Daniel Webster. 

1852 



Henrv Clay. 

1852 



John II. Payne. 

1852 

1858 

Lydia H. Sigourney... 

1855 

1157 


William H. Prescott_ 

1859 



Washington Irving_ 

1859 



Robert Walsh. 

1859 



James K. Paulding_ 

I860 

1861 


J. C. Hi ntington .... 

1802 



Nathaniel Hawthorne.. 

1804 



John Hughes. 

1804 



John Boyce. 

1804 

1805 


Xavier I). McLeod. 

1805 



Jared Sparks. 

1800 



Charles C. Pise. 

1800 



Fitz-Greene Halleck.. 

1807 



Levi S. Ives. 

1867 



T. D’Arcy McGee. 

1808 

1809 


James Me Sherry. 

I860 



John P. Kennedy. 

1870 



William G. Simms. 

1870 



George Ticknor... . 

1871 



Henry T. Tuckerman.. 

1871 

- 


George H. Miles. 

1871 



Archbishop Spalding.. 

1872 



James F. Meline. 

1873 

1876 


Orestes A. Brownson.. 

1876 



John Lothrop Motley.. 

1877 



William Cullen Bryant 

1878 



Richard H. I ana. L 

1879 

1880 


E. B. O’CallapPan.... 

1880 

1381 


Sidney Lanier. 

1881 



Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

1882 



H. W. Longfellow. 

1882 

1884 


Edwin P. Whipple. 

1886 



Abram .1. Ryan. 

1886 

1888 


Isaac Thomas Hecker. 

1888 



John B. O’Reilly. 

1890 



George Bancroft. 

1891 



James R. Lowell. 

1891 

1892 


John G. Whittier. 

1892 



John G. Shea. 

1892 



Francis Parkma n. 

1893 



Brother Azarias. 

1893 



Severn T. Wallis. 

1894 



OliverWendell Holmes 




Harriet Beecher Stowe 




Anna Hanson Dorsey. 




Augustine F. Hewitt.. 




Mary A. Sadlier. 




Mary A. Tincker. 




James Ryder Randall. 




James Kent Stone. 




James L. Spalding. 



1 

Francis M. Crawford.. 



































































TABLE OF LANGUAGES.* 


I. 

General Classification—Three Principal 

Forms, viz.: 

1. Monosyllabic. 

_ ! _ 

I i l i 

Chinese. Tibetan. Burinan. Siamese. 


2. Agglutinative. 


African Australian. Japanese. Fiiino- 
Languages. Tataric. 


Basque. American 
Languages, 


i I I I I 

Samoyedic. Finnic. Tataric, Mongolian. Tungusian. 
or Turkic. 


3. Inflected. 


Semitic. 

I 


I i 

Hamitic. Aryan, or Indo-European. 


Hebrew. Assyrian. Aramean. Arabic. Egyptian. Lybian. Ethiopian. 


« I I I I I I. I 

Sanscrit and Iranian, Hellenic. Romanic. Teutonic. Celtic. Slavonic, 
other languages or Persian, 
of India. 

II. 

Classification of European Languages. 

1. Western Europe. 

Celtic. 


Coltitjerian. Ancient Gallic. Hibernian, 

or Gaelic. 


Kyinric, 
or British. 


i r i i i. 

Old Irish. Erse, ' Manx. Welsh. Annorican 

| or Scotch Gaelic. 

Modem Irish. 


I . V. 
Cornish. 


* In making our classifications we have availed ourselves principally of Hovelncque's 
Science of Language. In the division of Semitic languages we have followed Fr. 
Vigouroux. 


xxi 























XX11 


TABLE OF LANGUAGES, 


Ancient Greek. 

Modern Greek, 
or Romaic. 


2. Southern Europe. 

Classical, or Graeco-Roman. 

| 

Etruscan. Latin. 

! 

Italian. Spanish. Portuguese. Norman-Frencli. 

French. 


3. Central Europe. 

Gothico-Teutonic, or Germanic. 


• Northern, or Scandinavian. 


Southern, or German. 


Icelandic. Norse. Danish. Swedish. Gothic. High-German, Low German, or Belgic. 

or German Proper. I 

1 I 

Old 1-, 

High-German. 


Friesic. Saxon. 


Middle 

High-German. 


Model' 
High-German. 


Old Saxon. Anglo-Saxon, 
iern I 

English. 


4. Eastern Europe. 

Slavonic. 


Russian. Kuthenian. Polish. Bohemian, or Tsecli. Servo-llroatian. Bulgarian. 


5. Northern Europe. 

Finnic. 

_ ! __ 

I l ! 

West Finnic. Lapponic. Magyar, or Hungarian.* 


* We have been compelled to place the Hungarian language under the heading of 
Northern Europe, because it belongs to the same group as the languages of Finland and 
Lapland. 















PART I. 

BRITISH LITERATURE. 


FIRST PERIOD. 

Old Saxon, or Anglo-Saxon Period, 449-1066. 

(From the Saxon Occupation to the Norman Invasion.) 

The most ancient inhabitants of Britain—The Primitive Saxons 
—Origin of the English Language—Invasion of Britain by the 
Saxons—Subdivision of the Old Saxon Period—Arrival of St. 
Augustine in England—Speech of an Anglo-Saaon thane — 
The Lord’s Prayer in Saxon—Characteristics of Anglo-Saxon 
poetry—Learning of the Anglo-Saxons—The most distinguished 
men of this period—Literature of Ireland — St. Gildas—Caedmon 
— St. Aldhelm—Venerable Bede — Alcuin—Alfred the Great — 
Anglo-Saxon Literature after Alfred ; AElfric ; The last years 
of the Period—Lost writings; What remains; General Char¬ 
acteristics of the Period. 

THE MOST ANCIENT INHABITANTS OF BRITAIN. 

The primitive history of the four great races that 
first peopled what is now termed Modern Europe is in¬ 
volved in obscurity. It is well known however that, 
at the dawn of the Christian era, the southern portion 
of the European continent was inhabited by the Pe- 
lasgic; the eastern, by the Slavonic; the central, by the 
Germanic; and the western, by the Celtic race.* 

The Celts were variously denominated: in France, 
they were called Gauls; in Britain, Britons; and in 
Ireland, Hiberni; whilst in Spain they mingled with 


* See Table of Languages, No. II., pages xxiii. and xxiv. 





2 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


the Iberi, and formed the Celtiberi. The British Celts, 
on account of their isolated position, had for a long 
time little to fear from foreign invasion. In the year 
55 before Christ, the first attempt at conquest was made 
by the Roman legions under the command of Julius 
Caesar. Notwithstanding the nominal tribute to which 
they were obliged to submit, the Britons did not lose 
their independence. The war was afterwards renewed 
by Claudius, and continued for thirty years, when Ag¬ 
ricola completed the conquest of the island with the ex¬ 
ception of the north of Scotland, and incorporated it 
into the Roman Empire (a.d. 78). The earliest records 
that we possess of the condition of the islanders at this 
time, show that they had not emerged from the state 
of barbarism: they led a nomadic and predatory mode 
of life, and had the habit of tattooing and staining their 
bodies. Soon, however, the efforts of Roman mission¬ 
aries succeeded in bringing the Britons to the light of 
faith. As early as the second century, Pope Eleuthe- 
rius, at the solicitation of Lucius, a British prince, sent 
SS. Eugatius and Damianus, or, as the Welsh chronicle 
quoted by Usher calls them, Fagan and Dervan, to bap¬ 
tize the converted Britons. It is, moreover, certain 
that a regular hierarchy was instituted before the close 
of the third century; for, by contemporary writers, the 
church of Britain is always put on an equality with the 
churches of Spain and Gaul; and in one of the earliest 
of the Western councils, that of Arles in 314, we meet 
with the names of three British bishops, viz., Eborius, 
of York, Restitutus, of London, and Adelplius, of Rich- 
borough. But the knowledge of the Gospel and Brit¬ 
ish civilization were doomed to disappear within two 
centuries, before the ignorance and barbarism of the 
Saxon invader. 


OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


3 


THE PRIMITIVE SAXONS. 

The Saxons, a tribe of the Germanic race, were, as 
their name indicates,* a fierce horde of piratical advent¬ 
urers. By the ancient writers, they are unanimously 
classed with the most barbarous nations that invaded and 
dismembered the Roman Empire. About the middle 
of the second century, they occupied a small district 
on the right bank of the river Elbe; but, in the course 
of two hundred years, their name had become common 
to the nations that dwelt from the extremity of the 
peninsula of Jutland to the Rhine. They were divided 
into three independent tribes, governed by hereditary 
chiefs, and known, according to their geographical po¬ 
sition, as, 1. the western tribe, or Westphalians, on the 
left bank of the Weser; 2. the eastern tribe, orOstpha- 
lians, on the banks of the Elbe; and, 3. the central 
tribe, or Angrians, who were located between the other 
two divisions. Once a year the chiefs of the tribes as¬ 
sembled to deliberate on affairs of general interest. 
Pillage on land and piracy at sea were their only occu¬ 
pations. In their expeditions on the North Sea they 
attacked the coasts of Britain, Belgium, and Northern 
Gaul; and, though the Roman imperial fleet had often 
been employed to check their incursions, their daunt¬ 
less and adventurous spirit could never be subdued. 
In the third century, their devastations on the British 
and Belgian coasts occasioned the appointment of a par¬ 
ticular officer, named Count of the Saxon Shore, to defend 
those regions; but, as the power of Rome declined, the au¬ 
dacity of the Saxons increased, their expeditions became 
more frequent, their descents more destructive. 


* The word Seaxan (Saxons) means men oj the short sword or dagger. 



4 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


INVASION OF BRITAIN BY THE SAXOHS. 

In the year 449, Hengist and Horsa, two Saxon chiefs, 
with a band of Angles, Saxons, and Jutes, succeeded 
in effecting a settlement on the coast of Britain. Vor- 
tigern, a British prince, availed himself of this warlike 
band to repel the incursions of the Scots and Piets. 
For their services he gave them lands in the county of 
Kent; but the Saxons soon made themselves indepen¬ 
dent, and founded, in 453, a kingdom, which kept the 
name of Kent. Successive bands, attracted by the 
good fortune of their compatriots, settled likewise in 
the country. Impelled by their natural ferocity, and 
goaded on by the stubborn resistance of the natives, 
the Saxons showed themselves such merciless enemies 
that, at the end of a century, the British race was con¬ 
fined to the mountains of Wales and the maritime dis¬ 
tricts of Cornwall.* The Britons, in their distress, sent 
the following letter to Aetius, then governor of Roman 
Gaul: “ To Aetius, now consul for the third time; the 
groans of the Britons. The barbarians drive us to the 
sea, the sea throws us back on the barbarians; thus 
two modes of death await us: we are either slain or 
drowned.” 

The treatment of the Britons at the hands of the 
Anglo-Saxons, has justly been compared to that of the 
North American Indians at the hands of the same 
race. 

In proportions the Angles and Saxons advanced in 
the interior of Britain, they established independent 
kingdoms. To the south of Kent was formed Sussex 

* The Britons of Wales remained independent of the Saxons till the reign 
of Edward I., who made himself master of their country. Under the name of 
Welsh, they remain to this day faithful to their language and to many of their 
old customs. 



OLD SAXON - , OR ANGLO-SAXON" PERIOD. 


5 


(Suth Seaxe); to the west, Wessex (West Seaxe); to the 
east, Essex (East Seaxe). These kingdoms, with 
Northumberland, East Anglia, and Mercia, completed 
the Anglo-Saxon heptarchy, but they were absorbed 
into one, in the ninth century, by the superior genius 
of Egbert, King of Wessex. From this date until the 
middle of the eleventh century, the barbarous Danes 
endeavored to treat the Saxons as the Saxons had 
treated the native Britons, and the history of the 
Anglo-Saxon monarchy presents but a confused and 
melancholy picture of incursions and resistance. 

ORIGIN" OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE—SUBDIVISION OF 
THE OLD SAXON PERIOD. 

Before the Saxon invasion, the aboriginal inhabitants 
of Britain spoke dialects of the ancient Celtic, a lan¬ 
guage quite different from the Anglo-Saxon. Nor did 
the Roman occupation of the island, which lasted up¬ 
wards of three hundred years (a.d. 78-411), effect ma¬ 
terial change in the speech of the people. It was only 
after the predatory German tribes of the Saxon confed¬ 
eration had obtained possession of Britain, that the 
Celtic began to be supplanted by the Anglo-Saxon lan¬ 
guage.* This was a Low-Germanic dialect, akin to 
the modern Dutch, but with many Scandinavian forms 
and words. It is the basis of the English language, to 
which it gave its laws, etymology, and syntax. Our 
modern English is therefore the Anglo-Saxon modified 
principally by the Latin through the Norman-French. 
It is supposed that of the 40,000 words contained in 
our current literature, nearly 25,000 are of Saxon 

* The number of British words that have crept into the English language 
is much below a hundred. The following are among the most current: 
basket, barrow, button, bran, cock, kiln, dainty, flaw, funnel, gruel, wicket, 
gown, wire, mesh, mattock, mop, rail, rug, soldier, size, tackle. 



6 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


origin.* This shows the propriety of including the 
Saxon times in tjie history of English literature. 

The old Saxon period is supposed to begin with the 
year 449, and to continue until the memorable battle 
of Hastings, in 1066, which put an end to the Saxon 
line of monarchs, and placed William the Conqueror, 
Duke of Normandy, on the throne of England. This 
period may also be subdivided, according to the inva¬ 
sions of the island by the Saxons and by the Danes, 
into the Anglo-Saxon period, from 449 to 787; and the 
Danish-Saxon period, from 787 to 1066. 

ARRIVAL OF ST. AUGUSTINE IN ENGLAND. 

The earliest form of the Saxon language cannot now 
be known, and Saxon literature dates only from the 
conversion of the Saxons to Christianity. According 
to Dr. Samuel Johnson, they were very probably with¬ 
out an alphabet; and they may be supposed to have 
continued in a state of barbarism until the year 597, 
when St. Augustine, at the solicitation of Pope St. 
Gregory the Great, came from Rome to convert them 
to the Christian faith. The circumstances which led 
to so happy an event are too interesting to be omitted 
here. Some Anglo-Saxon slaves had been offered for 
sale in a market at Rome. Gregory, as yet but a 
monk, was struck by the beauty of their features, and 
asked to what country they belonged. “ They are 
Angles,” was the reply; “but they are idolaters.” 
“Were they Christians,” he exclaimed, “they would 
no longer be Angles, but angels.” From that time 
he conceived the design of rescuing the nation from 
the errors of paganism, but was unable to execute it 

* The entire number of English words, including those used in science and 
art, is much larger. The latest edition of Webster’s Dictionary (1885) con¬ 
tains 118,000 words. 



OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 7 

before he was raised to the pontifical throne. St. 
Augustine and the zealous missionaries who accompa¬ 
nied him, not only succeeded in establishing Christian¬ 
ity among the pagan Saxons, and in softening by its 
mild influence the harsher features of their origin, but 
also excited a thirst for knowledge among the people. 
These good priests and monks instructed them in the 
use of the Roman alphabet, and taught them to read 
Greek and Latin books. How great the benefit was 
clearly appears, when we consider that, at the time, no 
literature existed except in these two languages. 

SPEECH OF AN ANGLO-SAXON THANE. 

When Edwin, King of Northumbria, had resolved, 
in 627, to become a Christian, he convoked an assem¬ 
bly of his principal friends and counsellors, and re¬ 
quired them to state their sentiments on the subject of 
religion. One of them, seeking for information re¬ 
specting the origin and destiny of man, ventured upon 
the following speech, which, while it showed his prac¬ 
tical good sense, exhibits also a striking picture of na¬ 
tional manners: “ Often,” said he, 0 king! in the 
depth of winter, while you are feasting with your 
thanes, and the fire is blazing on the hearth in the 
midst of the hall, you have seen a sparrow pelted by 
the storm enter at one door and escape at the other. 
During its passage it was visible; but whence it came 
or whither it went, you know not. Such seems to me 
to be the life of man. He walks the earth for a few 
years ; but what precedes his birth, or what is to follow 
after death, we cannot tell. Undoubtedly, if the new 
religion can unfold these important secrets, it must be 
worthy of our attention, and ought to be followed.”* 


* Bede’s History, B. ii., C. 13. 



8 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


THE LORD’S PRAYER IN SAXON. 

As a specimen of the earliest form of Saxon prose, 
we give the following most ancient copy of the Lord’s 
Prayer, said to have been written by ^Eadfrid, Bishop 
of Lindisfarne, about a.d. 700: 

Urin Fader thic arth in lieofnes. 

Our Father which art in heaven, 

1 Sic Gehalgad thin noma, 
be hallowed thine name, 

2 To cymeth thin rye, 

To come thine kingdom, 

3 Sic thin willa sue is in heofnes and in eortho. 

Be thine will so is in heaven and in earth. 

4 Urin lilef ofirwistlie sel us to daig. 

Our loaf super-excellent give us to-day. 

5 And forgefe us scylda urna, sue we forgefan scyldgum 

urum, 

And forgive us debts ours so we forgiven debts of ouYs, 

6 And no inlead usig in custnung, 
and not lead us into temptation, 

7 A1 gefrig usich frun ifle 

And free us from evil.—Amen. 


CHARACTERISTICS OF ANGLO-SAXON POETRY. 

The vernacular poetry of the Anglo-Saxons has been 
ably described by Mr. Turner. Its principal charac¬ 
teristics appear to be a constant inversion of phrase, 
with frequent use of alliteration,* metaphor, and peri¬ 
phrases. The style is highly elliptical. Two risings 
and two fallings of the voice were necessary to each 
perfect line. Two measures are met with, one shorter, 

* The alliteration was perfect, when two important words of a verse and 
the first important word of ithe next verse began'with the same letter, as in 
the following: 

Flah mah fliteth, The strong dart flittetb, 

Flan man hwiteth. The spear man wlietteth. 



OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


9 


the other longer, both commonly mixed in the same 
poem. Rhyme seems neither to have been sought 
after, nor rejected; it occurs but seldom. In Anglo- 
Saxon MSS. the verses are written continuously, like 
prose, but the division is generally marked by a point. 
All poetry was designed to be sung to the harp. A 
short specimen is here given from Caedmon. Another 
extract from the same poet may be seen on page 16. 


Ne wees her the giet, nymthe 
heolstersceado, 

Wiht geworden; ac thes wida 
grand 

Stod deop and dem—drihtne 
fremde, 

Idel and unnyfc. 


Nor had there here as yet, 
save the vault-shadow, 
Aught existed; but this wide 
abyss 

Stood deep and dim—strange 
to its Lord, 

Idle and useless. 

)m Guest's English Rhythms. 


LEARNING OF THE ANGLO-SAXONS. 

The chief successes of the early Anglo-Saxon writers 
were obtained through the medium of Latin, then and 
long after the common language of Europe. The 
rough vernacular was employed in popular poetry, or 
in such prose writings as had a didactic purpose for 
the benefit of the laity. 

In the pursuit of eloquence and of poetry, the Saxon 
student was frequently led astray by a vitiated taste. 
The laborious trifles, which, during the decline of 
taste, exercised the ingenuity of the Creek and the 
Latin writers, were seriously cultivated and improved 
by the most eminent of the Saxon scholars. In their 
works, we meet with acrostics composed of the initial 
and final letters of each line, or with poems in which 
the natural difficulty of the metro is increased by the 
addition of middle and final rhymes. 

The following specimen is taken from a poem com- 


10 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


posed by a disciple of St. Boniface, in honor of St. Aid- 
helm. The same number of syllables in each verse, the 
rhyme, and the alliteration, are characteristic features. 

Summo satore sobolis 
Satus fuisti nobilis, 

Generosa progenitus 
Genitrice, expeditus, 

• Statura spectabilis, 

Statu et forma agilis. 

Latin rhymes of this or a similar construction were 
called Leonine verses, probably from Pope St. Leo II. 
( 682 - 683 ), who was skilled in music and poetry, and 
who composed many hymns for the offices of the 
Church. Some of these rhyming hymns are unsur¬ 
passed even as literary compositions. Thus the Siabat 
Mater breathes a truly plaintive sweetness and sacred 
enthusiasm; and no other poem exists in any language 
more tender and more awe-inspiring than the wonder¬ 
ful sequence. Dies irae, dies ilia. In England, how¬ 
ever, the Leonine verse was principally used as a 
vehicle for satire and humor. 

From the study of Greek and Latin the student was 
conducted to that of philosophy, after having acquired 
the preliminary and necessary sciences of logic and 
numbers. His acquaintance with logic he derived 
from the writings of Aristotle and his disciples. The 
science of numbers equalled that of logic in impor¬ 
tance, and surpassed it in difficulty of attainment. 
The reader will not wonder at this, if he pause to 
reflect on the many disadvantages against which our 
ancestors were condemned to struggle. The Arabic 
figures, which the Christians received from the Mo¬ 
hammedans of Spain, about the close of the tenth 
century, have so facilitated the acquisition of this 
science as to render it familiar even to children. But 


OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 11 

the Saxons were ignorant of so valuable an improve¬ 
ment, and every arithmetical operation was performed 
with the aid of seven Roman letters, C, D, I, L, M, V, X. 

From this it appears that the obstacles to be over¬ 
come in the various branches of learning were nu¬ 
merous and formidable, and to the candid critic should 
be a subject of regret rather than of blame. If we 
consider that the Saxon writers are often equal, some¬ 
times superior, to many who lived before the dismem¬ 
berment of the Roman empire, instead of despising, we 
shall be inclined to approve and value, their exertions.* 

THE MOST DISTINGUISHED MEN OF THIS PERIOD. 

Theodore of Tarsus, who was consecrated at Rome 
Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Abbot Adrian, 
were sent to England, a.d. 668. Nothing could be 
more fortunate for the Anglo-Saxon literature than 
the arrival of these men in the country. Their con¬ 
versation and exhortations excited a great emulation 
for literary studies. Among the natives, St. Benedict 
Biscop, founder of the Abbey of Wearmouth, deserves 
honorable mention. Egbert, who became Archbishop 
of York in 732, was also famous in his day. But the 
three great Anglo-Saxon luminaries of the eighth 
century, who contributed so much to increase intel¬ 
lectual culture among their countrymen, were Ald- 
helm, Bede, and Alcuin. In the following century, a 
great accession of knowledge was introduced by the 
illustrious King Alfred the Great, who founded semi¬ 
naries of learning, encouraged letters by his own 
example, and was the munificent patron of scholars. 
Of these distinguished men we shall treat more fully 
in the sequel. 


* Lingard’s Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon Church, c. x. 



12 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


LITERATURE OF IRELAND. 

For more than two centuries after the death of St. 
Patrick, Ireland held the pre-eminence in Europe for 
her schools and religious literature. She was the Isle 
of Scholars, as well as the Isle of Saints. 

Many Anglo-Saxons, both of the higher and the 
lower ranks, as well as scholars from the Continent, 
attracted by the fame of her learned sanctuaries, 
resorted thither to pursue their studies or their devo¬ 
tions. In the life of Sedgenus, of the eighth century, 
we read: 

Exemplo patrum, cornmotus amore legendi, 

Ivit ad Hibernos, sophia mirabile claros. 

With love of learning and example fired, 

To Ireland, famed for wisdom, he retired. 

Count de Montalembert speaks of two hundred Irish 
poets whose memories and names have remained dear 
to Ireland. Among them all, none is dearer to the 
Celtic heart than that of St. Columba, or Columbkille 
(the dove of the cell). He was a prince, a poet, an 
orator, a monk and founder of a new monastic dis¬ 
cipline, and the apostle of Caledonia. Three Latin 
poems and thirty-six Irish poems attributed to him, 
still survive. As to the Projihecies of St. Columbkille , 
they are regarded by Catholic critics not only as void 
of authenticity, but as impositions and silly fictions. 
St. Columbkille died in 597, in the seventy-sixth year 
of his age. 

The Welsh and Irish tongues are undoubtedly the 
purest remains of the ancient Celtic. What literary 
treasures were gathered up by the Celtic bards and 
monks during the golden age of Irish history and 
literature, is rather a matter of conjecture. For, dur- 


OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 13 

ing the temporary subjection of the Irish to the Danes 
in the ninth century, a general destruction of the 
national poetry, of schools and colleges, took place 
under the direction of the Danish chiefs; and, in the 
sixteenth century, at the terrible period of the Refor¬ 
mation, the sacking of convents and the burning of 
whole libraries were the ruffian occupation of British 
soldiers and adventurers. Many Irish manuscripts 
have escaped, however, and are still to be found in the 
libraries of Armagh, Dublin, London, Rome, and 
Paris. The most celebrated of them are The Psalter 
of Casliell and the Annals of Tigernachus . The Psalter 
is a collection of metrical legends compiled by Cormac 
McCullinnan, Bishop of Cashell and King of Munster, 
about the year 900. The Annals are records of Irish 
history, written in the Irish language and characters 
of the eleventh century. Unfortunately, the monu¬ 
ments of Irish history and literature were compara¬ 
tively neglected for over two centuries (16t)0 to 1829), 
during which the Celtic language was proscribed from 
the schools and universities of Ireland by the fanatical 
policy of Great Britain. But, with more liberty, fresh 
zeal for a knowledge of the ancient tongue has been 
revived; eminent Irish scholars have pointed out the 
treasures of Irish antiquity, and the regular study of 
Irish, not only in the Catholic University and prin¬ 
cipal colleges, but even in the Protestant Establish¬ 
ments, foreshadows still more important results for the 
time to cnme. 

St. Gildas,'the Wise, the Earliest British His¬ 
torian, 494-565 (?). 


St. Gildas, one of the most illustrious solitaries of 
the sixth century, ranks as the first British historian. 


14 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


He was the son of a British lord, and received his 
early education in the monastery of St. Iltutus, in 
Glamorganshire, the most famous school then in 
Britain. This monastery, called Llan-Iltut (the Church 
of Iltut) from the name of its founder, was situated 
near the sea-coast, not far from Llan-Caravan. It 
reckoned among its scholars St. David, patron of 
Wales, St. Samson, St. Magloire, and many other 
personages, distinguished alike for learning and sanc- 
tity. 

St. Gildas wrote eight canons of discipline. He also 
translated from British into Latin the famous Molmu- 
tine laws,* which gave the privilege of sanctuary and 
protection to fugitives and criminals. But he is prin¬ 
cipally known by his Epistola de Excidio Britannia et 
Castigatio Ecclesiastici Ordinis. It is a severe invect¬ 
ive against the Britons, in which St. Gildas paints 
the vices of the people, the clergy, and their rulers. 
Like another Jeremias, he pronounces the misfortunes 
attending the Anglo-Saxon invasion an effect of the 
justice of God upon the nation. The title of the old 
translation is as follows: The Epistle of Gildas, the 
most ancient British Author, who flourished in the yere 
of our Lord, 5^6. And who, by liis great erudition, 
sanctitie, and wisdome, acquired the name of Sapiens . 
Faithfully translated out of the originall Latine. Lon¬ 
don, 12mo., 1638. It has been republished in Bohn’s 
Antiquarian Library. 

About the year 527, St. Gildas sailed to Brittany, in 
France. He wrote his invective ten years after his ar¬ 
rival there and in the forty-fourth year of his age, as is 
gathered from his life and writings. He is still honored 
in France, and is the patron saint of Vannes, an ancient 


* Geoffrey of Monmouth; British History, B. iii., c. v. These laws were 
afterwards translated into Anglo-Saxon by King Alfred. 



OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


15 


town of Brittany situated near the sea-coast. There 
are three parishes in Brittany that bear his name. 

The following extract is taken from the Preface of 
his Epistle: 

§ 1. Whatever in this my epistle I may write in my humble 
but well-meaning manner, rather by way of lamentation than 
for display, let no one suppose that it springs from contempt 
of others, or that I foolishly esteem myself as better than they: 
—for, alas! the subject of my complaint is the general destruc¬ 
tion of everything that is good, and the general growth of evil 
throughout the land; but that I would condole with my coun¬ 
try in her distress and rejoice to see her revive therefrom: for 
it is my present purpose to relate the deeds of an indolent and 
slothful race, rather than the exploits of those who have been 
valiant in the field. 

§ 2. I will, therefore, if God be willing, endeavor to say a few 
words about the situation of Britain, her disobedience and 
subjection, her rebellion, second subjection and dreadful slav¬ 
ery,—of her religion, persecution, holy martyrs, heresies of 
different kinds,—of her tyrants, her hostile and ravaging na¬ 
tions,—of her first devastation, her defence, her second devas¬ 
tation, and second taking vengeance,—of her third devasta¬ 
tion, of her famine, and letters to Agittius,*—of her victory 
and her crimes,—of the sudden rumor of enemies,—of her fa¬ 
mous pestilence,—of her counsels,—of her last enemy, far more 
cruel than the first,—of the subversion of her cities and of the 
remnant that escaped; and finally of the peace which, by the 
will of God, has been granted in these our times. 


Casdmon, the Earliest Anglo-Saxon Poet of 
Note, d. 680. 

The catalogue of writers in the Anglo-Saxon lan¬ 
guage begins with Caedmon,! a monk of Whitby, who 

* Or AStius, according to another reading. The address to ACtius, ope of 
the greatest generals of the Western Roman Empire, has already been men¬ 
tioned. See p. 4. 

t Beowulf, a romantic poem, consisting of forty-three cantos, with about 
six thousand lines, is anterior to the works of Csedmon; but it was probably 



16 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


has been styled the Anglo-Saxon Milton, because he 
sang of Lucifer and of Paradise lost. Bede tells us that 
no other religious poet could ever compare with Caed¬ 
mon, “ for he did not learn the art of poetry from men, 
but from God.” He was well advanced in years, when 
one night, while asleep in a stable, he was supernatu- 
rally inspired with the gift of song. He converted 
“into most harmonious verse” large portions of Holy 
Writ, and in magnificent strains sang “the terrors of 
the day of judgment, the pains of hell, and the sweet¬ 
ness of the heavenly kingdom. By his verses the 
minds of many were often excited to despise the world 
and to aspire to heaven.” 

His Song of the Creation begins with the following 
verses; 


Nu we sceolan herian,* * 
heofon-rices weard, 
metodes mihte, 
and his nod-ge-thone, 
wera wulder f seder! 
swa he wundra ge-liwses, 
ece dryliten 
oord onstealde. 

He serest ge-sceop, 
ylda bearnum 
lieofon to hrofe, 
halig scyppend! 
tha middan-geard 
mon-cynnes weard, 
ece dryliten, 
setter teode, 
firum fold an 
frea selmihtig! 


Now we shall praise 
the guardian of heaven, 
the might of the Creator, 
and his counsel 

the works of the Father of Glory; 
how he, of all wonders, 
the Eternal Lord, 
made the beginning. 

He first created 
for the children of men 
heaven as a canopy; 
the Holy Creator! 
then the world 
the guardian of mankind, 
the Sternal Lord, 
afterwards made 
the earth for man; 
the almighty master! 


composed in Schleswig, and brought over about the close of the fifth century. 
Some parts of it bear the mark of a Christian revision. Beowulf has been 
translated into English by J. M. Garnett. 

* Modern letters are substituted for those peculiar Saxop characters em 
ployed to expresss th, dh , and w. 



OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


17 


St. Aldhelm, the Sacred Minstrel, 656 (2)—709. 

St. Aldhelm ,* an eminent schoM- and promoter of 
literature in the seventh century, was a descendant of 
the West-Saxon kings. He built a stately monastery 
at Malmesbury, of which he himself was the first abbot. 
After he had governed the monastery for thirty years, 
iie was consecrated Bishop of Sherborne, where he died 
in 709. 

“It is evident,” says Dr. Henry, “from St. Aid-, 
helm's works which are still extant, that he had read 
the most celebrated authors of Greece and Rome, and 
that he was no contemptible writer in the languages in 
which these authors wrote.” According to Camden, 
he was the first Saxon that wrote in the Latin lan¬ 
guage, both in prose and verse; and he composed a 
book for the instruction of his countrymen on the pros¬ 
ody of that language. Venerable Bede gives the follow¬ 
ing estimate of him: “lie was a man of universal eru¬ 
dition, and the master of an elegant'style.” King Al¬ 
fred the Great declared that Aldhelm was the best of 
all the Saxon poets, and the author of a favorite song, 
which was universally sung nearly 200 years after the 
author's death. It is related of him that, having a 
fine voice, and great skill in music as well as in poetry, 
and observing the backwardness of his barbarous coun¬ 
trymen to listen to grave instructions, he composed a 
number of little poems, which he sung after mass in 
the sweetest manner, ana by these means gradually in¬ 
structed and civilized his people. William of Malmes¬ 
bury bears this testimony of him: “If you examine 
his writings attentively, you will find in them Grecian 
acuteness, Roman elegance, and English dignity.” Dr. 


2 


* Aid helm signifies old helmet. 



18 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Lingard, however, in his Antiquities of the Anglo* 
Saxon Church, is more reserved in his praises, and says 
of his Latin works: “With an exception in favor of 
some passages in his poems, they are marked by a pom¬ 
pous obscurity of language, an affectation of Grecian 
phraseology, and an unmeaning length of period which 
perplexes and disgusts. As a writer, his merit is not 
great; but, if we consider the barbarism of the preced¬ 
ing generation, and the difficulties with which he was 
surrounded, we cannot refuse him the praise of genius, 
resolution, and industry." 

None of his vernacular productions is extant. His 
chief surviving works consist of two treatises in praise 
of Virginity; the De Laudihus Virginitatis , sive de 
Virginitate Sanctorum, is in prose; the other, De 
Laudihus Virginum , is written in hexameter verse. 
All his extant works have been republished in modern 
times. 


Vesherable Bede, 673-735. 

Venerable Bede, the most illustrious name in the 
history of science and literature during the eighth cent¬ 
ury, was born in 673. Of his parents nothing has 
been recorded. He tells us, in his own short narrative 
of himself, that he was placed at the age of seven years, 
under the care of Abbot Benedict, in the Abbey of 
Wearmouth, that of Yarrow not being yet built. 
When, however, the second establishment was founded, 
Bede appears to have gone thither under Ceolfrid, its 
first abbot, and to have resided there all the remainder 
of his life. His own words are here in point: “All my 
life I have spent in the same monastery, giving my 
whole attention to the study of the Holy Scriptures; 
and, in the interval between the hours of regular disci- 


OLD SAXON, OR .ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


10 


pline and the duties of singing in the church, I have 
always taken pleasure in learning, or teaching, or writ¬ 
ing something.” He was eminent as a scholar, histo¬ 
rian, and divine; and was remarkable for his probity, 
disinterestedness, and modesty. He has given a list of 
forty-five different works composed by himself, * to 
which several others were afterwards added. How 
great a master he was of the Greek language appears 
from his Ars Metrica and other works. His hymns 
and epigrams are lost. All the sciences and every 
branch of literature were handled by him,—philosophy, 
astronomy, arithmetic, the calendar, grammar, history, 
biography, homilies, comments on the Scriptures,— 
though works of piety make up the bulk of his writ¬ 
ings. An honest candor and love of truth are so visibly 
the characteristics of his historical works, that, if some 
sceptical critics have sometimes suspected him of cre¬ 
dulity, no man ever called in question his sincerity. 
His Ecclesiastical History of the Anglo-Saxons is, to 
this day, a leading authority, not for the annals of the 
Church only, but for all the public events that oc¬ 
curred in the earlier part of the Anglo-Saxon period. 
The style is easy and perspicuous, and though far in¬ 
ferior to that of the great masters of antiquity, it may 
justly claim higher praise than the other specimens of 
the time. Bede was a great man for the age in which 
he lived: he would have been a great man, had he 
lived in any other age. Bishop Tanner, an eminent 
antiquary, thus writes of him: “He was a prodigy of 
learning in an unlearned age, whose erudition we can 
never cease admiring. If we think that he sometimes 
failed in his judgment or by credulity, when we take a 
view of all his writings together, we shall confess that 
he alone is a library and a treasure of all the arts.” 

During his last illness, he had undertaken an Anglo- 


20 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Saxon translation of the Gospel of St. John, which he 
continued till a few moments before his death. The 
interesting scene of his last hours is thus described by 
his disciple Cuthbert: “He passed the remainder of 
the day in prayer and conversation till evening, when 
his ascribe again interrupted him, saying: ‘ Dear Master, 
there is yet one sentence not written/ Bede told him 
to write quickly, and he dictated a few words, when 
the youth exclaimed: f It is now done/ f Thou hast 
well said/ answered Bede, ‘ it is done! Support my 
head with thy hands, for I desire to sit facing the holy 
place in which I was wont to pray. There let me 
invoke my Heavenly Father/ And thus on the floor 
of his cell, chanting the Gloria Patri, he had just 
strength enough to proceed to the end of the phrase, 
when he breathed out his soul with his last words 
(Spiritui Sancto) on his lips.” He died in 735, and 
was buried at Yarrow. The following epitaph was 
placed on his tomb: 

“ Presbiter liic Beda requiescat carne sepultus. 

Dona, Cliriste, animam in coolis gaudere per a3vum; 
Daque illi sopliise debriari fonte, cui jam 
Suspiravit ovans intento semper amore.” 

Translation. 

Not as the opening bud, but laden bough, 

Here sainted Bede, the priest and sage, lies low. 

Grant him, O Lord, now that his task is done, 

Eternal joys, through Thy beloved Son; 

For endless ages, filled with heavenly love, 

His thirst allay at Wisdom’s fount above. 

st. Augustine’s arrival in kent, a.i>. 597. 

(From The Ecclesiastical History.) 

As soon as they [St. Augustine and his missionaries] entered 
the dwelling-place assigned them, they began to initiate the 


OLD SAXON, OK ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


21 


course of life practised in tlie primitive Church; applying 
themselves to frequent prayer, watching, and fasting; preach¬ 
ing the Word of Life to as many as they could; despising all 
worldly things as not belonging to them; receiving only their 
necessary food from those they taught; living themselves in 
all respects conformably to what they prescribed to others* 
and being all disposed to suffer any adversity and even to die 
for that truth which they preached. In short, several believed 
and were baptized, admiring the simplicity of their innocent 
life and the sweetness of their heavenly doctrine. There was 
on the east side of the city a church dedicated to the honor of 
St. Martin, built whilst the Romans were still in the island, 
wherein the queen, wdio, as has been said before, was a Chris¬ 
tian, used to pray. In this they first begar to meet, to sing, to 
pray, to say mass, to preach, and to baptize, till the king, be¬ 
ing converted to the faith, allowed them to preach openly, and 
build and repair churches in all places, 

When he, among the rest, induced by the unspotted life of 
these holy men and their delightful promises, which, by many 
miracles, they proved to be most certain, believed and was 
baptized, greater numbers began daily to flock together to 
hear the Word, and, forsaking the heathen rites, to associate 
themselves, by believing, to the unity of the Church of Christ. 

Their conversion the King encouraged, but compelled none 
to embrace Christianity; yet he showed more affection to the 
believers, as to his fellow-citizens in the heavenly kingdom. 
For he had learned from his instructors and leaders to salva¬ 
tion that the service of Christ ought to be voluntary, not by 
compulsion. Nor was it long before he gave his teachers a 
settled residence in his metropolis of Canterbury, with such 
possessions of different kinds as were necessary for their sub¬ 
sistence. 


Alcuin, 735-804. 

Alcuin is tlie most distinguished of those Anglo- 
Saxons whose name shed lustre on the empire of the 
Frankish monarch in the eighth century. He was born 
at York, or in its vicinity, about the year 735, of a 
noble family; and, when scarcely weaned from his 
mother’s breast, he was dedicated to the Church. On 


22 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


reaching the proper age he was placed in the school of 
Archbishop Egbert, at York, then celebrated for the 
number of noble youths who crowded thither to imbibe 
instruction from the lips of that learned prelate. In 
781, whilst on a visit to the Continent in search of 
books and new discoveries in science, Alenin was in¬ 
duced to take up his residence in France and become the 
friend and counsellor of Charlemagne, who was then 
meditating the foundation of scholastic institutions 
throughout his dominions. To secure the benefit of 
Alcunds instructions, Charlemagne established at his 
court a school—called Palatina, because it was kept at 
his palace—which seems to have been the origin of the 
University of Paris. He joined to it a sort of acad¬ 
emy, each member of which borrowed the name of some 
personage of antiquity. Charlemagne had the name 
of David; Alcuin that of Flaccus, from Horace; and 
Angilbert, son-in-law to Charlemagne, that of Homer. 

Indeed most of the schools in France were either 
founded or improved by Alcuin.* In 796 he estab¬ 
lished a school in the Abbey of St. Martin of Tours, 
and another at Aix la-Chapelle: thus did he greatly 
assist the revival of letters in the vast dominions of 
this prince. As he advanced in years, he grew weary 
of the honors he enjoyed, and took leave of court in 
801. His Abbey of St. Martinis was selected for the 
place of his retreat; but till his death in 804 he kept 

* A German poet, cited by Camden, thus extols the merit of Alcuin in in¬ 
troducing literature into France: 

“ Quid non Alcuino, facunda Lutetia, debes, 

Instauratur bonas ibi qui feliciter artes, 

Barbariemque procul solus depellere coepit? ” 

Translation. 

“ Let Gallia’s sons, nurtur’d in ancient lore, 

To Alcuin’s name a grateful tribute pay; 

’Twas his, the light of science to restore, * 

And bid barbaric darkness flee away.” 



OLD SAXON, Oil ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


23 


up a constant correspondence with Charles. His nu¬ 
merous charities excited the applause and gratitude of 
the inhabitants of Tours; and a hospital, which he 
founded for the reception of the poor and of travellers, 
was long preserved under the tuition of his successors, 
the abbots of St. Martin’s. 

The pen of Alcuin was seldom idle. For the use of 
his pupils he wrote, in the form of dialogues, elerilcnt- 
ary treatises on most of the sciences; and compiled, at 
the solicitation of his friends, the lives of several emi¬ 
nent men. His letters are numerous, and possess a 
special interest on account of the fidelity with which 
they describe the views, manners, and employment of 
the most distinguished characters of the age. Like 
Bede, he wrote comments on several books of Script¬ 
ure; and occasionally he proved his devotion to the 
Muses by the composition of small poems. His moral 
works breathe a sincere piety; his doctrine on all 
points of faith is most pure, and he let slip no oppor¬ 
tunity of exerting his zeal in its defence. His style, 
however, is not pleasing, being overloaded with useless 
words, common thoughts, and affected ornaments. 
“Alcuin,” says Feller, “had more genius than taste, 
more erudition than elegance; and he was more fluent 
than eloquent.” Nevertheless his works are much 
esteemed, and he is acknowledged as the most learned 
and polished man of his time. 

We subjoin the following address of Alcuin to his 
cell, on quitting it for the world: 


O mea cella, milii liabitatio dulcis amata, 
Semper in seternum, O mea cella, vale! 
Undique te cingit ramis resonantibus arbos, 
Silvula florigeris semper onusta cornis. 
Flumina te cingunt florentibus undique ripis, 
Refcia piscator qua sua tendit ovans. 


24 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Fomiferis redolent ramis tua claustra per liortos, 

Lilia cum rosulis Candida mixta rubris. 

Omne genus volucrum matutinas personat odas, 

Atque creatorem laudat in ore Deum. 

Translation.* 

O my loved cell, sweet dwelling of my soul, 

Must I forever say, “ Dear spot, farewell! ” 

Found thee tlieir shades the sounding branches spread, 

A little wood with flowering honors gay; 

The blooming meadows wave their healthful herbs, 
Which hands experienced cull to serve mankind. 

By thee, ’mid flowery banks the waters glide, 

Where the glad fishermen their nets extend; 

Thy gardens shine with apple-bending boughs, 

Where the white lilies mingle with the rose; 

Their morning hymns the feathered tribes uesound, 

And warble sweet their great Creator’s praise. 

Alfred the Great, 849-901. 

Among the writers of the ninth century, a dis¬ 
tinguished place should be given to King Alfred the 
Great, who in 871 succeeded his brother Etlielred I. 
on the throne of England. When only in his fifth 
year he was sent to Rome to be crowned by the Pontiff 
Leo IV., and afterwards he accompanied his father on 
a pilgrimage to the apostolic city. According to a well- 
known but now discredited story, his mother Osburga, or 
his step-mother Judith, had the merit of awakening in the 
mind of Alfred that passion for learning for which he 
stands so conspicuous among his contemporaries. Hold¬ 
ing in her hand a Saxon poem, elegantly written and 
beautifully illuminated, she offered it as a reward to the 
first of her children whese proficiency should enable him 
to read it. The emulation of Alfred, the youngest, was 
excited; he ran to his master, applied to the task.with 

* Lingard, who quotes Asser’s Lite of Alfred. 



OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 25 

diligence, performed it to the satisfaction of the 
queen, and received the prize of his industry.* 

Being called to the throne by the unanimous voice 
of the West Saxons, Alfred succeeded in conquering 
the Danes, whose invasions had rapidly accelerated the 
decline of learning in the Saxon states, and crowned 
his victories by framing just laws, establishing juries, 
civilizing the people, and resuscitating the arts, 
sciences, and belles-lettres in his kingdom. With the 
assistance of. distinguished scholars of his own and 
foreign countries, whom he invited to his court, he 
began, in his thirty-ninth year, to apply to the study 
of Roman literature, and opened schools in different 
places for the instruction of his subjects. King Alfred 
was greatly indebted to the counsels of St. Neot, his 
spiritual director, for the advancement of useful and 
sacred studies. Our historians agree that a plan for 
the general study of sciences and liberal arts was laid 
by this holy anchoret; and after this plan Alfred is 
said to have founded a school, which, in the course of 
time, grew to the University of Oxford. It was his 
will that the children of every freeman, whose circum¬ 
stances would allow it, should acquire the elementary 
arts of reading and writing; and that those who were 
designed for civil or ecclesiastical employments, should 
moreover be instructed in the Latin language. It was 
a misfortune which the king frequently lamented, that 
Saxon literature contained no books of sciences. “ I 
have often wondered/’ says he, f ‘ that the illustrious 
scholars, who once flourished among the English, and 
who had read so many foreign works, never thought of 
transferring the most useful into their own language.” 
To supply this deficiency Alfred himself undertook 

the task. 

* 


Lingard’s History. 






26 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


His writings, besides a code of laws which he com¬ 
posed, comprise translations into Anglo-Saxon of 
Bede’s Ecclesiastical History; of Pope Gregory’s Pas¬ 
toral Care, a work recommended both by its own 
excellence and the reputation of its author; of the 
Universal History of Orosius, the best epitome of 
ancient history then extant; of parts of the Bible; of 
the Soliloquies of St. Augustine; and of the Consola- 
tion of Philosophy by Boethius, a treatise deservedly 
held in high reputation at that period, a copy of which 
he constantly carried about him. 

The manner in which he regulated his time, enabled 
him to give due attention to everything—business, 
study, and prayer. He divided the twenty-four hours 
into three equal parts: the first, for exercises of piety; 
the second, for sleep and necessary refreshments; and 
the third, for the duties of his station. Sir Henry Spel- 
man, the celebrated English antiquary and philologist, 
says of him in a rapture: “ 0 Alfred, the wonder and 
astonishment of all ages! If we reflect on his piety 
and religion, it would seem that he had always lived in 
a cloister; if on his warlike exploits, that he had never 
been out of camps; if on his learning and writings, 
that he had spent his whole life in a college; if on his 
Wholesome laws and wise administration, that these 
had been his whole study and employment.” 

England, before his time barbarous and agitated by 
continual troubles, became under him an abode of 
peace and justice. This great monarch died in the 
year 901, deeply regretted by his people, who revered 
him as a hero, statesman, and saint.* 

As a specimen of Anglo-Saxon prose, we give the 
following, taken from his Introduction to the Transla¬ 
tion of St. Gregory's Pastorale: 


* See Character of Alirecl by Hume, p. 249 of this work. 




OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


27 


For thi me thingth beterc 
gif geow swa tliinetli, that we 
eac sume bee tha themed 
bethyr fysta syn eallum man- 
num to witanne, that we tha 
on that ge-theode wendon the 
we ealle ge cnawen masgen, 
and ge-don swa we switlie 
eathe magon mid Godes ful- 
tome gif we tha stylnesse 
liabbath, that call seo geo- 
gutli the nu is on Angelcynne 
freora manna, tliara the tha 
speda haebben, that hi tham 
befeolan msegan syn to leor- 
nunga oth faeste, tha hwile 
the hi nanre otlierre note ne 
maegen, oth fyrst the hi wel 
cunnen Englise gewrit arcedan. 
Laere mon sithtlian furthor on 
Leden ge-theode, tha the man 
furthor laeran wille, and to 
herran hade don wille. 


Therefore it seems to me 
better, if it seems so to you, 
that we also, some books that 
be deemed most needful for 
all men to know, that we 
translate them into that lan¬ 
guage that we all can under¬ 
stand, and cause, as we very 
easily may with God’s help, 
if we have leisure, that all 
the youth that is now in the 
English nation of freemen, 
those that have wealth to 
maintain themselves, may be 
put to learning, the while they 
can employ themselves on 
nothing else, till first they 
can read well English writing. 
Afterwards let people teach 
further in the Latin tongue 
those whom they will teach 
further and raise to a higher 
degree. 


Anglo-Saxon literature after Alfred; ^Elfric, 
the Grammarian, d. 1006; the last years of 

THE PERIOD. 

After the reign of Alfred, not only was the progress 
of literature impeded by the renewed invasions of the 
ruthless Danes, but it seemed for a time threatened 
with entire destruction. Their footsteps were every¬ 
where marked by the sack of cities, the plunder and 
burning of churches and monasteries. Many literary 
monuments perished ; the rising generations were de¬ 
prived of the ordinary means of education and knowl¬ 
edge. In the general calamity of the times it is 
refreshing to notice some, holy and learned bishops, 
among whom shone particularly St. Dunstan (924-988)^ 


28 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Archbishop of Canterbury'; St. Ethelwold (d. 984), 
Bishop of Winchester; St. Oswold (d. 992), Arch¬ 
bishop of York, and Hfifric (d. 1006), Archbishop of 
Canterbury. This last prelate was a voluminous 
writer, and, like Alfred, manifested a strong desire 
to enlighten the people. He wrote much in his native 
tongue, particularly Homilies to the number of eighty, 
a translation of the first seven books of the Bible, and 
some religious treatises. He was the author of a Lcdin- 
Saxon Grammar , which procured for him the surname 
of Grammarian; of a Glossary of Latin words most 
commonly used in conversation; and of the Collo¬ 
quium, a conversation in Latin, with an interlinear 
Saxon version. He himself tells us that he avoided 
the use of all obscure words, in order that he might be 
better understood by the people. After the restora¬ 
tion of peace in 1017, there seems to have been a 
certain revival of literary zeal. Especially during the 
reign of Edward the Confessor, himself a lover and 
patron of learning, the monastic schools of Peter¬ 
borough, Evesham, Winehcombe, and Ramsay cast a 
light upon the last years of the Anglo-Saxon Period. 

(From tlie Paschal Homily.) 

Heethen cild bith ge-fiillod, ac hit ne braet na his hiw with* 
u tan, 

A heathen child is christened, yet he alteretli not his shape 
without, 

dlieah dhe hit beo with-innan awend. Hit bith ge-broht 
synfull dhurh 

though he be within changed. He is brought sinful through 
Adames forgsegednysse to tham fant fate. Ac hit bith athwo- 
gen tram 

Adam’s disobedience to the font-vessel. But he is washed 
from 

eallum syunum with-innan, dlieah dhe hit with-utan his hiw ne 
awende. 


OLD SAXON, OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 


29 


all sins inwardly, though he outwardly does not change his 
shape. 

Eac swylce the halige fant wseter, dhe is ge-haten lifes wyl- 
spring, is ge-lic 

Even so the holy font-water, which is called lifers fountain, is 
like 

on liiwe adlirum wseterum, and is under dlieod brosnunge; ac 
dhses halgan gastes 

in shape (to) other waters, and is subject to corruption; but 
the Holy Ghost’s 

miht ge-nealsectli tham brosnigendlicum waetere, dhurh sacerda 
blest-sunge, 

might come (to) the corruptible water through (the) priest’s 
blessing, 

& hit mseg sythan lichaman & sawle athwean fram allum 
synnum, dhurh 

and it may afterwards body and soul wash from all sin, through 
gastlice might, 
ghostly might. 

(From the Colloquium.) 

The following is a colloquy between master and 
scholars: 

1. D. We eildree biddatli the, eala.Lareow, tliset thu ta3ce us 

sprecan 

2. Nos pueri rogamus te, Magister, ut doceas nos loqui 

3. We children beseech thee, O Master, that thou teach us 

to speak 

1. on Ledem rihte, fortham ungelaerede we syndon, and 

2. Latialiter recte, quia idiotse sumus et 

3. in Latin rightly, because unlearned we are and 

1. gewaem mod lice we sprecatli. 

2. corrupte loquimur. 

3. badly we speak. 

M. 1 Hwa3t wille ge sprecan? 

2 Quid vultis loqui? 

3 What wish ye to speak? 

D. 1 Hwaet rece we hwset we sprecon, buton het riht sprsec sy, 
and 

2 Quid curamus quid loquamur, nisi recta locutio sit, et 

3 What care we what we speak, unless it be right speech 

and 


30 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


1 behefe, nEes idel otlitlie fracod? 

2 utilis, non anilis aut turpis? 

3 useful, not idle or shameful? 

M. 1 Wille ge beon beswungen on leornunge ? 

2 Yultis flagellari in discendo? 

3 Will ye be whipped in learning? 

D. 1 Leofre ys ns beon beswungen for lare, thonne hit ne 
cuunan; ac 

2 Carius est nobis flagellari pro doctrina, quam nescirc; 

sed 

3 It is more pleasing for us to be whipped for learning than 

not to know; but 

1 we witon the bile-witne wesan, and nellan on-belsedan 

swingla 

2 scimus te mansuetum esse, et nolle inferre plagas 

3 we know thee to be kind, and unwilling to inflict a 

whipping 

1 us, buton thu beo to-genydd fram us. 

2 nobis, nisi cogaris a nobis. 

3 on us, unless thou be forced by us. 


LOST writings; what remains; general character¬ 
istics OF THE PERIOD. 

We are far from having mentioned all the literary 
productions of this period. Many, which had escaped 
the fury of the Danes, have perished by the excesses of 
fanaticism. During the reigns of Henry VIII. and 
his successor, when monasteries were suppressed and 
the old religion of England was bitterly persecuted, 
entire libraries, procured by the incessant toil of the 
monks for many centuries, were utterly destroyed, be¬ 
cause they were standing witnesses of the Catholic faith 
in England; not even the libraries of the two great 
universities were spared. Precious monuments of Eng¬ 
lish antiquity disappeared, hut we can never know the 
amount of the irreparable loss then sustained.* En- 


* See further details on page 85 of this book. 



SEMI-SAXON, OR TRANSITION PERIOD. 


31 


tire or fragmentary works of about fifty Anglo-Saxon 
authors are all that remain, many of them as yet un¬ 
published. Among the prose writings are found laws, 
charters, and the very valuable Anglo-Saxon Chronicle , 
which extends from the middle of the sixth to the mid¬ 
dle of the twelfth century. It was written by contem¬ 
poraneous authors, chiefly monks of Winchester, Peter¬ 
borough, and Canterbury. 

Both the prose and the poetry of this period were 
evidently the productions of men who sought to raise 
the character of the people and to improve their con¬ 
dition; practical and moral are the epithets that best 
describe them both. 


SECOND PERIOD. 

Semi-Saxon, or Transition Period, 1066-1250. 

(From the Norman Invasion to the middle of the reign of 
Henry III.) 

The.'Normans—The Battle of Hastings and the Beginning of the 
Norman Dynasty — Influence of the Norman-French on the 
Mother Tongue—The Trouveres and the Troubadours—The 
Semi-Saxon Language—Effects of the Preservation of the Latin 
Language—The Monasteries—Ancient Libraries—Curriculum 
of a Liberal Education — Universities—The Scholastic Method — 
Lanfranc—St. Anselm—John of Salisbury—Other Learned Pre¬ 
lates—Historians and Rhyming Chroniclers—The Ormulum. 


THE NORMANS. 

At the era that we have reached, the Normans 
ranked among the most polished and warlike nations 
of Europe. For their rapid advancement in civiliza¬ 
tion, they owed much to the wisdom and justice of 



32 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


their princes; but still more to the influence of the 
Christian religion, which softened the ferocity of their 
manners, led them to cultivate the useful and orna¬ 
mental arts, and opened* to their investigations the 
stores of ancient literature. Although the principles 
of rude chivalry, and a poetical belief in the marvellous, 
remained as relics of the old Northern mythology, these 
were gradually purified and refined by the humanizing 
tendencies of the faith which they had ardently em¬ 
braced. Their chivalrous and martial spirit followed 
them into England, as, some years later, it accom¬ 
panied them in their dauntless expeditions to the Holy 
Land. 

THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS AND THE BEGINNING OF 
THE NORMAN DYNASTY. 

Edward the Confessor having died without issue in 
1066, two distinguished aspirants asserted their right to 
the throne of England: Harold, son of Count Godwin; 
and William, Duke of Normandy. Their claims were 
decided on the battle-field of Hastings, where Harold 
fell, pierced by an arrow. Upon the hill on which 
perished the last of the Saxon kings, William built a 
beautiful and rich abbey, the Abbey of the Battle, in ful¬ 
filment of a vow which he had made to St. Martin, 
patron of the Gallic soldiers. Thus the Norman in¬ 
fluence, first felt under Canute, who married a Nor¬ 
man wife, and strengthened by Edward the Confessor, 
who had received his education at the Norman court, 
at length attained its full ascendency. The foreign 
yoke, however, was borne with impatience by the na¬ 
tive population, who, after repeated unsuccessful ris¬ 
ings, sank in despair, and yielded to the stern and hu¬ 
miliating exactions of their new masters. 


SEMI-SAXON, OK TRANSITION PERIOD. 


33 


INFLUENCE OF THE NORMAN-FRENCH ON THE MOTHER 
TONGUE. 

As soon as William had made his tenure sure, he 
began the work of extirpating the Saxon language, by 
ordering that the elements of grammar should be 
taught in the French language; that the Saxon alpha¬ 
betical characters should be abandoned as barbarous, 
and all deeds, pleadings in courts, and laws, should be 
in French. Saxon then fell into contempt; and those 
of the old race who were more politic than patriotic, 
set to work vigorously to aquire the favorite tongue of 
the nobilit}' and higher classes. Those who had some 
pretensions to education, took pride in speaking ‘the 
Frensche of Paris. * And so firm a footing did the new 
language acquire at court and elsewhere, that the Picard 
trouvere, who recited his poem at the tomb of St. 
Thomas of Canterbury, could boast a hundred years 
later: 

“ Mes languages est buens; car eii France fui nez.” 

THE TROUVERES AND THE TROUBADOURS. 

The song of the minstrels was one of the earliest lit¬ 
erary importations from both the northern and the 
southern districts of France. The minstrels of the 
northern districts were called Trouveres; those south of 
the river Loire, Troubadours —words that are evidently 
only dialectical forms of the same name, the Langue 
d’oyl and the Langue d’oc being substantially the same 
language. The trouveres cultivated the Walloon Ro- 
mance, the parent of the modern French, and revived 
in their poetry many of the old legends brought from 
Scandinavia by the Normans. Fabulous tales of dwarfs 
and giants, dragons and monsters, were blended with 
3 


34 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


chivalrous notions and Christian legends. To these 
bold compositions, somewhat kindred to the epic, the 
name of romance, from the dialect used, has remained 
attached. The poetry of the troubadours was chiefly 
lyric, comprising amatory songs or dialogues known by 
the name of Tensons . 

THE SEHI-SAXQN LANGUAGE. 

Still the mother tongue could not be trampled out. 
The disorganization and decay which were discoverable 
in it, contained the seeds of life; and an idiom sprung 
up called the Semi-Saxon, that is to say, an unsettled, 
varying form of speech, differing in many respects from 
the old Saxon, but not as yet so determined or complete 
as to constitute a new language. “Nothing can be 
more difficult,” says Hallam,* “than to determine, ex¬ 
cept by an arbitrary line, the commencement of the 
English language; not so much, as in those [the lan¬ 
guages] of the Continent, because we are in want of 
materials; but rather from an opposite reason, the pos¬ 
sibility of tracing a very gradual succession of verbal 
changes that ended in a change of denomination. For, 
when we compare the earliest English of the thirteenth 
century with the Anglo-Saxon of the twelfth, it seems 
hard to pronounce why it should pass for a separate 
language rather than a modification or simplification of 
the former. We must conform, however, to usage, and 
say that the Anglo-Saxon was converted into English: 
1. by contracting or otherwise modifying the pronuncia¬ 
tion and orthography of words; 2. by omitting many 
inflections, especially of the noun, and consequently 
making more use of articles and auxiliaries; and 3. by 
the introduction of French derivatives.” But, in the 


* Lit. of Europe, vol. i., pp. 44 and 45, Harper’s Edition. 




SEMI-SAXON, OR TRANSITION PERIOD. 


35 


period now under consideration, the foreign element is 
as yet inconsiderable. Of the eight thousand words of 
its printed literature, not one thousand are of Romance 
or Latin origin. The effort of the Norman dynasty to 
substitute the French for the Anglo-Saxon language 
had not the effect intended, but it drove out of use 
many words of the native tongue, and checked for a 
time the advance of its literature. The dearth, how¬ 
ever, of Semi-Saxon writings proves no lack of mental 
activity in the nation. Never, perhaps, was that activ¬ 
ity better displayed in Europe than at the period of 
which we speak. This was the age that beheld the 
foundation of the great Universities, when the study of 
philosophy and theology excited universal enthusiasm. 
England did not remain behind in that intellectual 
movement. We are told that, in 1231, the number of 
students at Oxford, together with their attendants, 
amounted to thirty thousand. The English mon¬ 
asteries, too, were so many centres of study and learn¬ 
ing. But, in both the universities and the monasteries, 
Latin was still the chief medium of imparting and 
transmitting knowledge. 

EFFECTS OF THE PRESERVATION OF THE LATIN LAN¬ 
GUAGE. 

In the half-developed state of most European lan¬ 
guages during the Middle Ages, a common idiom was 
indispensable; and Latin was that link which united 
the several countries of Europe. Nay more, it connect¬ 
ed the mediaeval and the modern with the ancient world. 
“The Latin," says Fred. Schlegel, “was the depos¬ 
itory of all learning, until the plebeian dialect, the 
Romanic, adapting itself to local genius and the in¬ 
fluence of circumstances, grew to be a separate and dis- 


36 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


tinct idiom. Had not the Latin been adopted by the 
Church, whilst the new tongues were gradually develop¬ 
ing and settling into form, the world would have been 
dark indeed. How little would have reached us of the 
thought, life, or events of that period!” “If it be de¬ 
manded,” says Hallam,* “by what cause it happened 
that a few sparks of ancient learning survived through¬ 
out this long winter, we can only ascribe their preser¬ 
vation to the establishment of Christianity. Religion 
alone made a bridge, as it were, across the chaos, and 
has linked the two periods of ancient and modern civ¬ 
ilization. Without this connecting principle, Europe 
might indeed have awakened to intellectual pursuits; 
but the memory of Greece and Rome would have been 
feebly preserved by tradition,—and the monuments of 
those nations might have excited, on the return of civ¬ 
ilization, that vague sentiment of speculation and won¬ 
der with which men now contemplate Persepolis or the 
Pyramids. The sole hope for literature depended on 
the Latin language; and I do not see why that should 
not have been lost, if three circumstances in the prevail¬ 
ing religious system had not conspired to maintain it— 
the papal supremacy, the monastic institutions, and the 
use of the Latin liturgy.” 

THE MONASTERIES. 

It is worthy of note, in the history of letters, that we 
owe to the monks whatever we know of their times. 
The remains of their patient and arduous labors form 
the only true materia historica of modern writers. 
This is especially true of English monks and mon¬ 
asteries. Scarcely any other country in Europe pos¬ 
sesses such a historical treasure as the Saxon Chronicle , 


* Middle Ages, p. 461. 




SEMI-SAXON, OR TRANSITION PERIOD. 37 

so authentic and so characteristic. It is a faithful 
picture of the manners, the thoughts, the joys, the 
sorrows of the most interesting and important pe¬ 
riod in the history of England, as if the life itself of 
the nation, with its characters and incidents, were made 
to pass before our eyes in a rapid panorama.* 

In depreciating the Middle Ages, it has been custom¬ 
ary to string together the most contradictory objec¬ 
tions. “ Latin mediaeval history,” says Fred. Schlegel,f 
“generally goes by the contemptuous appellation of 
monkish chronicles, composed as they were by the clergy 
of the time. In adopting this opprobrious term, people 
seem to ignore the fact that the historians thus libelled 
were for the most part of high birth, conversant with 
state secrets, and, generally speaking, well-informed 
men, and the best educated of their day. If clerical 
degeneracy is the subject of complaint, it is asserted 
that the clergy administered extensive rule, fared as 
sumptuously as princes, and directed the helm of state. 
But if their works are criticised, it is alleged that they 
were ignorant monks, unacquainted with the world, and 
manifestly unfit to write history. In truth, the position 
of these authors was the very beau-ideal of literary con¬ 
dition best calculated to combine the elements of suc¬ 
cess. For, whilst they had ample opportunities of 
knowing the realities of life by mingling in its scenes, 
they had also the requisite independence and leisure for 
the privacy and dispassionate judgment of the closet.” 

ANCIENT LIBRARIES. 

The art of printing not being yet known, each mon¬ 
astery had its scriptorium for those who were employed 


* Dublin University Magazine, 
t Hist, of Lit., p. 167. 




38 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


in transcribing books, an occupation in which the ma¬ 
jority of the monks were engaged during the hours al¬ 
lotted to manual labor. Each monastery had its li¬ 
brary. From the writings of Alcuin, we learn that 
there was a renowned library at York; and, as it is the 
earliest recorded collection of books, and furnishes the 
first catalogue of an English library extant, we subjoin 
a list of the chief works it contained. Alcuin says that 
in this library were the works of Jerome, Hilarius, Am¬ 
brose, Augustine, Athanasius, Gregory, Pope Leo, 
Basil, Chrysostom, and others. Bede’and Aldhelm, 
the native authors, were also here. In history and 
philosophy, there were Orosius, Boethius, Pompeius, 
Pliny, Aristotle, and Cicero. In poetry, Sedulius, Ju- 
Yencus, Prosper, Arator, Paulinus, Fortunatus, Lac- 
\antius; and, of the classics, Virgil, Statius, and 
Lucan. Of grammarians, there was a great number, 
such as Probus, Phocas, Donatus, Priscian, Servius, 
Eutychius, and Comminianus. Ingulf tells us that 
the library of Croyland contained above three hundred 
volumes, till the unfortunate fire that destroyed the 
abbey in 1091. The academical library of Oxford, in 
1300, consisted, according to Hallam, of a few tracts 
kept in chests under St. Mary’s Church. The diffi¬ 
culty of procuring books in those times may be shown 
from the fact that, in 1067, the Countess of Anjou 
paid for a collection of homilies two hundred sheep, a 
measure of wheat, another of rye, a third of millet, 
and a certain quantity of-skins of the marten. 


CURRICULUM OF A LIBERAL EDUCATION. 

John of Salisbury gives us, in liis writings, the most 
complete account that has reached us, not only of the 
mode of study at Paris, but of the entire learning of 


SEMI-SAXON, OR TRANSITION PERIOD. 39 

the age. Those branches of literary and scientific 
knowledge, which formed the usual course of educa¬ 
tion, were considered as divided into two great classes, 
—the first, or more elementary of which, comprehend¬ 
ing Grammar, Logic, and Rhetoric, was called the 
Trivium,; the second, comprehending Music, Arithme¬ 
tic, Geometry, and Astronomy, the Quadrivium. The 
seven arts, so classified, used to be thus enumerated in 
a Latin hexameter: 

Lingua , Tropus, Batio, Numerus, Tonus, Angulus, Astra. 

John of Salisbury speaks of this system of sciences 
as an ancient one in his day. “The Trivium and 
Quadrivium,” he says in his work entitled Metalogicus, 
“ were so much admired by our ancestors in former 
ages, that they imagined the seven arts comprehended 
ail wisdom and learning, and were sufficient for the 
solution of all questions and the removing of all diffi¬ 
culties. For whoever understood the Trivium, could 
explain all manner of books without a teacher; and 
he who was farther advanced, and was master also of 
the Quadrivium, could answer all questions and unfold 
all the secrets of nature.” The present age, however, 
had outgrown the simplicity of this arrangement; and 
various new studies had been added to the ancient seven, 
as necessary to complete the circle of sciences, and the 
curriculum of a liberal education. Dr. Lingard* ob¬ 
serves that it was from the works of the Latin writers 
which had survived the wreck of the empire, that stu¬ 
dents sought to acquire the principal portion of their 
knowledge; but, in the more abstruse investigation of 
the mathematics, the ancients were believed to be infe¬ 
rior to the Mohammedan teachers; and many an Eng- 


* Hist, of Eng., vol. ii. 



40 


ERITISTI LITERATURE. 


lishman, during the reign of Henry I., wandered as far 
as the hanks of the Ebro in Spain, that he might listen 
to the instructions, and translate the works, of the 
Arabian philosophers. 

UNIVERSITIES. 

The seven arts, comprised in the Trivium and Quad- 
rivium, were, so to say, the foundation of the Univer¬ 
sity system. The superstructure embraced the sciences 
of Theology, Law, Medicine, and, subordinated to 
these, of Metaphysics, Natural History, and the lan¬ 
guages. A University was, therefore, a “ studium gen- 
erale, a school of universal learning, consisting of 
teachers and learners from ever quarter.” The four 
Faculties which conferred degrees were those of Arts, 
Theology, Law, and Medicine. In the Faculty of 
Arts there were no other degrees than those of Bache¬ 
lor and Master; whilst in the other Faculties the suc¬ 
cessful candidates, after severe examination, could be¬ 
come Bachelors, Licentiates, and Doctors or Masters. 
The titles of Doctor and Master, at first used indis¬ 
criminately, came to be restricted in their application, 
that of Master to the highest degree in the Faculty of 
Arts, and that of Doctor to the highest degree in the 
other three Faculties. Theology, Medicine, Civil and 
Canon Law, had particular schools. Salerno was the 
nursery of all the Medical Faculties of Europe; Bo¬ 
logna was the chief School of Law; Paris, as a place of 
general instruction, stood at the head of all others, 
and was styled the City of Letters. In the University 
of Paris, none was admitted to the course of theology 
who had not obtained the degree of Master of Arts. 
After three years' attendance to the course of theology, 
and a twofold examination, the student passed through 


SEMI-SAXON, OR TRANSITION PERIOD. 


41 


the ordeal of a public thesis during five hours; and, if 
successful, he was made Bachelor of Theology. To 
become Licentiate, he studied one or two years more, 
after which he had to defend three theses, the first 
during five, the second during ten, and the third dur¬ 
ing twelve hours,—from six a.m. till six p.m.,— being 
allowed, in the last instance, to take a short meal with¬ 
out leaving the room. Finally the defence of another 
thesis was required before the Licentiate could obtain 
the highest degree and wear the Doctor’s cap.* 

The degrees were neither conferred nor received for 
the same end for which they are in modern times. • 

“Degrees would not at that time be considered mere 
honors or testimonials, to be enjoyed by persons who at 
once left the university and mixed in the world. The 
university would only confer them for its own purpose; 
and to its own subjects, for the sake of its own sub¬ 
jects.” f 

The universities, as corporate bodies, became pos¬ 
sessed of a great number of privileges. They were so 
many little republics that were governed by their char¬ 
ter of statutes, their tribunals, and their independent 
jurisdiction. They were special objects of favor on 
the part of kings and popes. Their influence was par¬ 
amount in the decision of all religious and even politi¬ 
cal questions. 


THE SCHOLASTIC METHOD. 

The system adopted in the schools and universities 
of the twelfth and subsequent centuries for the teach- 

* “ The whole course, from the termination of the grammatical studies to 
the Licentiate, extended originally through twenty years; though afterwards 
it was reduced to ten.” Card. Newman's Office and Work of Universities, p. 
328. 

+ Ibid., p. 241. 



42 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ing of philosophy and theology, is known as the Scho¬ 
lastic Method. To define words of an obscure or am¬ 
biguous meaning; to analyze and point out the va¬ 
rious aspects of a question, and determine such as are 
brought under immediate discussion; to prove one’s 
positions by arguments drawn in syllogistical form; 
and, finally, to solve the objections that ma}' be raised 
by adversaries: these are the main features of the scho¬ 
lastic method. Not a few writers have inconsiderately 
attempted to throw discredit upon this system. That 
some of the schoolmen, wandering in a maze of meta¬ 
physical subtleties, undertook to treat useless, friv¬ 
olous, and sometimes absurd questions, cannot cast a 
censure upon a method perfectly sound in itself, and 
illustrated by a number of great men, among whom St. 
Thomas, the angel of the schools, stands pre-eminent. 

Laintfrahc, 1005-1089. 

Most productions of the eleventh and twelfth centu¬ 
ries, at least such as have come down to us, are works 
composed in Latin by learned ecclesiastics. Of these 
authors, the most distinguished, both in Church and 
State, are Lanfranc and St. Anselm. Both of them 
were brought from the famous Abbey of Bee, in Nor¬ 
mandy. Both were Italians by birth, and both were 
raised in succession to the See of Canterbury. The love 
of learning exhibited by these eminent prelates, en- 
' kindled the same ardor in the breasts of the clergy. 
Lanfranc was for many years professor of laws at Pavia, 
his native city. William, with the consent of his barons, 
appointed Lanfranc to the Archiepiscopal See of Can¬ 
terbury; and more than once, during his absence from 
England, he charged the prelate with the chief care of 
the government. Lanfranc rebuilt the Cathedral of 


SEMI-SAXON, OR TRANSITION PERIOD. 43 

Canterbury, which had been destroyed by fire, and 
founded outside of the city two opulent hospitals, one 
for lepers, the other for the infirm. “He set himself 
to restore a great number of cathedral and monastic 
schools that had fallen into decay, and during his lei¬ 
sure hours liked to hear some poor scholars hold dispu¬ 
tation in his presence on learned subjects, rewarding 
them with liberal gifts. ” * He distinguished himself 
also by the ability with which he combated the errors 
of Berengarius at the Council of Rome, in 1059. His 
writings show less of the rudeness of the age in which 
he wrote, and more order, precision, and ease, than 
the other productions of the eleventh century. He dis¬ 
plays a great knowledge of Holy Scripture, of tradition, 
and of canon law. A Commentary on the Epistles of St. 
Paul , a Treatise on the Holy Eucharist, sixty Letters , 
and some Instructions for monks, are the principal 
among the extant works of Lanfranc. He had written 
a Life of William, the Conqueror, which is lost. The 
venerable prelate died in 1089, illustrious for his virtues 
and his zeal for the maintenance of discipline, the 
rights of his Church, and ecclesiastical immunities. 

His works were printed for the first time at Paris, in 
1648. 


St. Anselm, 1033-1109. 

Four years after the demise of Lanfranc, the celebra¬ 
ted Anselm, a native of Aosta in Piedmont, arrived in 
England. King William II., who had seized upon the 
temporalities of Canterbury, being dangerously ill, was 
induced to give the vacant office to Anselm. The re¬ 
luctant abbot, after a long and violent struggle, yielded 
to the commands of his superiors, and accepted the 


* Christian Schools and Scholars. 




44 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


dignity of archbishop. His life henceforth was to op¬ 
pose a calm but firm resistance to the encroachments of 
William Rufus and Henry I. on the authority of the 
Church. 

St. Anselm was conspicuous in an age of great 
ecclesiastics, and he ranks among the doctors of the 
Church. Mosheim * admits that he excelled in di¬ 
alectics, metaphysics, and natural theology, and is the 
author of the demonstration of the existence of God, 
drawn from the innate idea which all men have of a 
being infinitely perfect. He adds that St. Anselm was 
the best moralist of his time, and the first that has given 
a general system, or complete body, of theology. He 
is, doubtless, one of those that contributed most to give 
scholastic philosophy its constitutive form. 

The first of his works is the Monologium, or Soliloquy. 
It is divided into seventy-nine chapters, in which he 
proves by arguments drawn from the light of reason 
alone, without recurring to the testimonies of the sacred 
Scriptures, that there exists a supreme, sovereignly 
perfect being, who is the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; 
that the reasonable soul is made to know and love him, 
and is the image of him. In another work, entitled 
the Proslogium, or Alloquium , he treats of the attri¬ 
butes of God, proving that this Supreme Being is all 
that faith teaches us: eternal, immutable, all-powerful, 
immense, incomprehensible, truth, mercy, justice. 

St. Anselm also discussed with great clearness the 
doctrine of the Incarnation, the procession of the Holy 
Ghost, the atonement of the original sin, etc. As to 
his ascetic works, they are instructive, edifying, full of 
unction and of a certain tender love of God, which in¬ 
flames the most insensible hearts. His Letters exhibit 

* Mosheim (1694-1755) is the author of an Ecclesiastical History full of 
prejudices against the Church. 




SEMI-SAXO**, OR TRANSITION PERIOD. 


45 


the singular beauty of his soul, his rectitude, his sim¬ 
plicity, his burning love of the neighbor, and the eagle 
glance of his mind. 

We cannot overestimate the advantages which Eng¬ 
land derived from the example and influence of the two 
great scholars, St. Anselm and Lanfranc. 

John of Salisbury, 1120 (?)-1182. 

John of Salisbury, a native of Salisbury, was dis¬ 
tinguished for vivacity of thought and speech, and es¬ 
pecially for his classical attainments. When quite 
young, he went to Paris, and learned there the elements 
of dialectics under Peter Abelard. After studying for 
nearly twelve years under different masters, he returned 
to England, was made secretary to Theobald, Arch¬ 
bishop of Canterbury, and continued to hold the same 
office under his successor, St. Thomas a Becket. In 
1176, at the recommendation of Louis VII. of France, 
he was appointed Bishop of Chartres, where he died 
in 1182. 

Ilis first work is entitled The Frivolities of Courtiers 
and the Footsteps of Philosophers—(Polycraticus sive de 
Nugis Curialium et Vestigiis Philosophorum). The 
courtiers are censured for the vices to which they are so 
liable, and exhorted to the practice of their peculiar 
duties, whilst the lovers of philosophy are taught the 
philosophical doctrines which they should receive and 
follow. 

His second work is the Metalogicus , a prose treatise 
in six books, composed about 1160. He there defends 
good dialectics and true eloquence against a sophist 
whom he designates by the name of Cornificius. This 
work contains valuable materials for the history of 
scholastic philosophy during the twelfth century. 


4G 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


John of Salisbury is also the author of a Life of St. 
Thomas a Bechet, and a great number of Letters. 

As a writer, John of Salisbury is estimable for his 
great erudition, and for the general correctness of his 
style. Blithe is reproached with three things: affecta¬ 
tion of style, inaccuracy in his reasonings, and a want 
of proper allowance for the difference of times and 
manners. 


OTHER LEARNED PRELATES. 

Among the prelates of this period that were distinguished for their 
learning we must not omit Cardinal Stephen Langton (d. 1228), St. Edmund 
(d. 1240), and Robert Grosseteste. The first two occupied the See of Canter¬ 
bury; the third, whose name in literature is more prominent, was Bishop of 
Lincoln. Grosseteste was indebted for his education at Oxford to the 
charity of the Mayor of Lincoln. He taught in his university with un¬ 
bounded applause; he wrote treatises on almost every branch of science, 
and was pronounced by Friar Roger Bacon perfect in divine and human 
knowledge. He died in 1253, leaving behind him the reputation of a great 
scholar and saint. 

HISTORIANS AND RHYMING CHRONICLERS. 

A great number of historians and chroniclers flourished in England during 
this period. All were ecclesiastics, most of them monks; some wrote in 
Semi-Saxon, others in French, the greater number in Latin. We may note 
the following as being most conspicuous: Ingulf or Ingulphus (1030- 
1109), born in London, studied at Westminster and Oxford. William, as yet 
Duke of Normandy, took him as his secretary. Ingulf having subsequently 
become monk, the Conqueror appointed him abbot of Croyland in place 
of Wulfketul, who had been deposed and imprisoned. Although he was 
indebted to the foreigners for his promotion, he showed great kindness to 
the natives. “ Ingulf has left us a detailed account of the abbey of Croy¬ 
land from its foundation, and has interwoven in his narrative many inter¬ 
esting particulars of national history.”* Florence (d. 1118), a monk of great 
erudition in the monastery of Worcester, composed a Chronicle, which reaches 
to the year 1117, and is valuable as a record of many contemporary events 
which but for him would be lost to history. Another monk of Worcester, 
named John, brought up the work to the year 1141. Ordf.ricus Vitai.is, 
born in 1075 near Shrewsbury, spent fifty-six years in the monastery of St. 
Evreux in Normandy. As he himself tells us, he led a happy life with his 
brother monks, and spent much of his time in literary composition. He 
wrote in Latin an Ecclesiastical History, which is very precious for original 
information on the affairs of Normandy and England after the Conquest. 
William of Malmesbury, thus named from the famous abbey in which he 
lived, is the author oi a Historia Regum Anglise. He congratulates himself 

* Lingard’s Hist., vol. ii. p. 26. 





SEMI-SAXON, OK TRANSITION PERIOD. 


47 


on being ‘the first who, since Bede, has arranged a continuous history of 
the English.” Though Norman by one parent and Saxon by the other, he 
denounces the petty tyranny of the Norman barons, and vindicates the 
rights ot the Saxons, but professes to write of both impartially. His history 
comes down to 1142, the year before which he is supposed to have died. 
Henry, Archdeacon of Huntingdon, who delights in those old Saxon chron¬ 
icles and poems \v hich the polished Latinists ot the twelfth centurv regarded 
as beneath their notice. Roger de IIoveden, a churchman who acted as 
clerk or secretary to Henry II., is the author of Annals of English history 
from the year 732 to 1201. The events of the last twenty years of this period 
form one-half of the entire work. Roger of Wendover, a monk of St. Al¬ 
bans, wrote a chronicle entitled Flores Historiarum, the last portion of which 
is very precious, as it records the events of his own time. 

Gerald de Barri, better known as Giraldus Cambrensis (1147-1217), had 
a Norman baron lor his lather and a Welsh lady for his mother, and seems 
to have inherited the good and bad qualities of both races. “ He was ener¬ 
getic, proud, and grasping with the Norman ; imaginative, genial, vain, and 
flighty with the Celt.”* He studied in Paris and became Archdeacon of 
Brecknock in Wales. He wrote many works in Latin, the most celebrated 
ol which is his Vaticinalis Expugnationis Historia (History of the Conquest 
of Ireland). He had accompanied Prince John in his expedition to Ireland, 
and had remained a whole year in the island. 

Irish critics generally take exception to the statements of Giraldus, “but 
his personal account of Ireland,” says Henry Morley.t “is no dry,antique 
itinerary, but a series of vigorous and graphic sketches, both of men and 
things, unequalled in Gerald’s own time for its spirit and truth.” The other 
important productions of his pen are Topographia Hibemix; Itinerarium 
Cambrise; I)e Rebus a se Gestis, De Jure et Statu Menevensis Ecclesise ; a collec¬ 
tion of letters, poems, and speeches under the title of Symbolum Electorum; 
Gemma Ecclesiastica, a practical book addressed to the Welsh clergy. 

Geoffrey of Monmouth, a Welsh bishop, who lived about the same time, 
is the author of a well-known fabulous History of the Britons (Historia 
Britonum ), from which the romance writers drew the material for their 
poems about Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Drayton repro¬ 
duces much of it in his Polyolbion; and it has given occasion to many allu¬ 
sions in the poetiy of Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, and Tennyson. 

Wace, an Anglo-Norman poet (1112—1184), wrote in his native French a nar¬ 
rative poem, entitled Roman de Brut d'Angleterre. The chief hero was an 
imaginary son of iEneas of Troy, named Brutus, who was represented as 
having founded the State of Britain many centimes before the Christian era. 
The materials of this poem were taken from the History of the Britons by- 
Geoffrey of Monmouth. 

Layamon, a priest living in Worcestershire, may be regarded as Die first of 
a series of writers known by the appellation of rhyming chroniclers. He 
produced, at the close of the twelfth century, a Semi-Saxon imitation, or 
free translation, of Wace’s Brut. His verse-history is the earliest pcem of 
great magnitude in the English language, and extends to about sixteen 
thousand lines of four accents each. It has both alliteration and rhyme, 
though of a rude description. The number of French derivatives found in 
this work does not exceed fifty words. 

* Thomas Arnold, English Literature, p. 39. 

f English Writers, vol. iii. p. 65. 





BRITISH LITERATURE. 


48 

Speaking of himself as an author, 

He wonede at Ernleie 
Wid than gode cnihte, 

Uppen Severne; 

Merie ther him thohte; 

Faste hi Radistone, 

Ther heo bokes radde. 

Hit com him on mode, 

And on his thonke, 

That he wolde of Engelond 
The rihtnesse telle; 

Wat the men i-hote weren, 

And wancne hi comen, 

The Englene lond 
iErest afden 
After than flode, 

That fram God com; 

That al ere acwilde 
Cwic that hit fuude, 

Bot Noe and Sem, 
tfaphet and Camn, 

And here four wifes, 

That mid ham there weren. 


Layamon thus writes; 

He dwelt at Ernley, 

With the good knight, 

Upon the Severn; 

Pleasant there it seemed to him; 
Close by Radistone 
There he books read. 

It came into his mind, 

And in his thought. 

That he would of England 
The exact story tell; 

What the men were called, 

And whence they came, 

The English land 
First to occupy 
After the flood, 

That from God came, 

That destroyed all here 
Alive that was found 
Except Noe and Sem, 

Japliet and Cam, 

And their four wives 
That were with them there. 


The Ormulum. 

To the same period as that of Layamon’s Brut have heen as¬ 
signed two other works of considerable celebrity, the Ormulum 
and the Ancren lliwle. 

The Ormulum , so called from its author Orm, or Ormin, is a 
series of homilies for nearly every day in the year. It is com¬ 
posed in metre without alliteration, and, except in very few 
cases, also without rhyme. The manuscript, as preserved, 
comprises ten thousand lines of seven feet, or twenty thou¬ 
sand of four and three feet alternately. 

A peculiar feature of the Ormulum , and one too on which 
its author insists as imoortant, is the spelling. The peculiar¬ 
ity consists in the duplication of the consonant whenever it 
follows a vowel having any other sound than its name-sound. 
We subjoin the first lines of the dedication to his brother 
Walter. 

Nu, brotlierr Wallterr, brotherr min 
JV 010 , brother Walter , brother mine 

Affterr the flaeslies kinde; 

After the flesh' 1 s kind; 

Amid brotherr min i Crisstenndom 
And brother mine in Christendom (Christ's Kingdom) 


OLD ENGLISH, OR EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 49 


Thurrh fulluhht and tliurrh trovvwthe; 

Through baptism and through truth. 

The Ancren Riwle. 

The Ancren Riwle — e. the Anchoresses’ Rule—is a treatise in 
English prose on the duties of the monastic life, for the direction 
of three ladies to whom it is addressed. The author is unknown, 
but he manifestly belonged to the clergy, and probably was in a 
position of eminence and authority. The entire work extends to 
eight Books, which in the printed edition cover 215 quarto pages. 
It contains many Latin derivatives, in singular contrast with the 
work of Layamon, which is so thoroughly Saxon. 


THIRD PERIOD. 

Old English, or Early English Period, 1250-1350, 

(From the middle of the reign of Henry III. to the middle of 
the reign of Edward III.) 

Old English—Proclamation of Hennj III.—Roger Bacon — Met¬ 
rical Romances ■— Historians — Rhyming Chroniclers — Minor 
Poets. 


OLD ENGLISH. 

The name of Old English lias been given to this 
period of one hundred years on account of the numer¬ 
ous changes in orthography and grammatical arrange¬ 
ment which impart to the language an English appear¬ 
ance, and of many archaisms that distinguish it from 
modern English. To this period belongs what many 
English philologists regard as the first specimen of 
English, as contradistinguished from Semi-Saxon, viz., 
the short Proclamation issued by Henry III. in the year 
1258. Its real importance arises chiefly from the fact, 
that it is one of the few specimens of the English of 
4 



50 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


that century, the date of which is positively known. 
Although it was addressed to the people of Hunting¬ 
don, copies of it were sent for public promulgation to 
every shire in England. It may therefore be consid¬ 
ered as the best evidence existing of the condition of 
the English language at any fixed date in the thir¬ 


teenth century. 

Proclamation of 

Henr’, thurg Godes fultume 
King on Engleneloande, lhoa- 
verd on Irloand, duk’ on 
Norm’, on Aquitain’, and eorl 
on Aniow, send igretinge to 
all hise halde ilaerde and 
ilaewede on Huntendon’ 
schir’. 

Thaet witen ge wel alle, 
thaet we willen and unnen, 
tliaet tliaet ure raedesmen 
alle other the moare dael of 
heom, thaet beotli ichosen 
thurg us and thurg thaet loan- 
des folk on ure kunericlie, 
habbeth idon add scliullen don 
in the worthnesse of Gode and 
on ure treowthe for the freme 
of the loande thurg the be- 
sigte of than toforeniseide red- 
esmen, beo stedefaest and iles- 
tinde in alle thinge a buten 
aeude, and we hoaten alle ure 
treowe in the treowthe, that 
heo us ogen, thaet heo stede- 
faestliche healden and swerien 
to healden and to werien the 
isetnesses, thaet beon imakede 
and beon to makien thurg 
than toforeniseide raedesmen 
other thurg the moare dael of 
4 


Henry III., a.d. 1258. 

Henry, by God’s grace, king 
in (of) England, lord in (of) 
Ireland, duke in (of) Nor¬ 
mandy, in (of) Aquitaine, and 
earl in (of) Anjou, sends greet¬ 
ing to all his lieges, learned 
and lay, in Huntingdonshire. 

This know ye well all, that 
we will and grant that what 
our councillors, all or the 
greater part of them, who are 
chosen by us and by the land’s 
people in our kingdom, have 
done and shall do, to the 
honor of God and in allegi¬ 
ance to us, for the good of 
the land, by the ordinance of 
the aforesaid councillors, be 
steadfast and permanent in 
all things, time without end, 
and we command all our true 
men by the faith that they 
owe us, that they steadfastly 
hold, and swear to hold and 
defend the regulations that 
are made and to be made by 
the aforesaid councillors, or 
by the greater part of them, 
as is before said, and that 
each help others this to do, by 
the same oath against all men, 


OLD ENGLISH, OR EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 51 


lieom alswo alse hit is biforen 
iseid, and tliaet aelic other 
helpe tliaet for to done bi than 
ilclie otlie agenes alle men, 
rigt for to done and to foan- 
gen, and noan ne nime of 
loande ne of egte, wheretliurg 
this besigte muge beon ilet 
other iwersed on onie wise and 
gif oni other onie cumen her 
ongenes, we willen and 
hoaten, tliaet alle ure treowe 
lieom healden deadliclie ifoan, 
and for tliaet we willen, tliaet 
this beo stedefaest and les- 
tinde, we senden gew this 
writ open iseined with ure 
seel to halden amanges gew 
inchord. 

Witnesse usselven aet Lun- 
den’ thane egtetentlie day on 
the montlie of Octobr’ in the 
two and fowertigtlie geare of 
ure cruninge. 

And this wes idon aetforen 
ure isworene redesmen: 

[here follow the signatures 
of several redesmen or council¬ 
lors] and aetforen othre moge. 

And al on tlio ilche worden 
is isend in to aeurihce othre 
slicire ouer al thaere kune- 
riche on Engleneloande and 
ek in tel Irelonde. 


right to do and to receive, and 
that none take of land or 
goods, whereby this ordinance 
may be let or impaired in any 
wise, and if any one or 
any number transgress here 
against, we will and command 
that all our true men them 
hold as deadly foes, and be¬ 
cause we will that this be 
steadfast and permanent, we 
send you these letters-patent 
sealed with our seal, to keep 
among you in custody. 


Witness ourself at London 
the eighteenth day in the 
month of October in the two 
and fortieth year of our coro¬ 
nation. 

And this was done before 
our sworn councillors. 

[Signatures.] 

and before other nobles. 

And all in the same words 
is sent into every other shire 
over all the Kingdom in (of) 
England and also into Ireland. 


—From Marsh’s Origin and History of the English Language, p. 
192. 


Roger Bacon, 1214-1294. 

Roger Bacon, an English monk of the Order of St. 
Francis, holds an eminent position among the great 
names that adorn the century in which he lived; such 


52 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


as St. Thomas Aquinas, the Angelic Doctor; St. Bona- 
venture, the Seraphic Doctor; Alexander Hales, the 
Irrefragable Doctor; and Albertus Magnus. He was 
born in Somersetshire, in 1214. His proficiency in 
learning was wonderful. He is said to have been a per¬ 
fect master of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and to have 
added to these a knowledge of the Arabic tongue. He 
is called the Admirable Doctor, on account of the pro¬ 
gress which he made in Astronomy, Chemistry, Mathe¬ 
matics, and other departments of learning. He pro¬ 
posed to Pope Clement IV., in 1267, the correction of 
the Calendar; but the difficulty of the work which was 
accomplished some centuries later, prevented the pon¬ 
tiff from acquiescing in this project. 

He described very exactly the nature and effects of 
concave and convex lenses, and led the way to the 
discovery of spectacles, telescopes, and microscopes; 
but he seems not to have known the instruments 
which we possess at present. He has also the credit of 
having invented the air-pump, the camera-obscura, the 
diving-bell, and gun-powder. 

In his Opus Majus, he propounds most enlightened 
views upon the value of experiment as a means of 
arriving at physical truth. Indeed, he was so far in 
advance of his age that his scientific researches com¬ 
municated no stimulus and found no imitators. 

He died at Oxford, in 1294, and is entitled to rank, 
along with Newton and Leibnitz, among the great 
philosophers and wonderful men of the world. 

Metrical Romances. 

This seems to be the proper place to say a few words 
of the metrical romances which obtained so large a 
share of influence during the Middle Ages. Under 


OLD ENGLISH, OR EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 53 

that name of romances, narrative poems, epic in kind, 
though not in loftiness of style or unity of design, 
were composed in French, as early as the tenth century. 
They usually turned upon some marvellous adventures 
of a character more or less religious and chivalric. 
Long after the conquest, they continued to be favorites 
at the Anglo-Norman court and baronial hall; but, at 
the close of the twelfth century, translations or imita¬ 
tions of these began to be done into English. In the 
thirteenth, were written the earliest of those which we 
possess in the original Semi-Saxon; in the fourteenth, 
the English took the place of the French metrical 
romance with all classes, and this was the era alike of 
its highest ascendency and of its most abundant and 
felicitous productions; in the fifteenth, the romance 
declined among the more educated classes; and, finally, 
at the commencement of the sixteenth century, it 
became utterly neglected by readers and writers, and 
so continued to be for three centuries. When, at the 
close of the last century, a reaction in favor of mediae¬ 
val times set in, the romantic poems of Sir Walter 
Scott revived in a certain way the metrical romances, 
and were received with great favor. His example has 
found imitators in several great poets of this century 
—Byron, Moore, Southey, and Tennyson. 

The subjects of the metrical romances were mani¬ 
fold. The greater and more interesting part may be 
referred to four distinct heads: the first, relating to 
the ancient world and its heroes, especially Alexander 
the Great; the second, to Arthur and the Knights of 
the Round Table ; the third, to Charlemagne; the 
fourth, to the Crusades, and especially to Richard the 
Lion-hearted. But, whatever was the subject, the 
place, or date of the story, the romances were always a 


54 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


picture or reflection of the manners, usages, and general 
spirit of society in which they were produced * 

The MSS. repositories of England abound with metrical 
romances of the old chivalric times. 

Historians. 

Nicholas Trivet, a Dominican, wrote, under the title of Annals , a valu¬ 
able work of English history, which extends from 1135 to 1307. He died in 
1338. 

Ranulph Higden, a Benedictine monk, composed about the same time a 
work of general history and geography, which he called Polychronicon. 
Soon afterwards it was translated from the Latin into English by John of 
Trevisa, a canon of Gloucestershire. It remained a standard work for 
reference and study even to the end of the fifteenth century. Many MSS. of 
it are still extant. 

Rhyming Chroniclers. 

ROBERT OF GLOUCESTER. 

About 1290 was written the metrical History of England, from Brutus to 
the death of Henry III., by Robert of Gloucester, a monk of Gloucester 
Abbey. It is founded on the histories of Geoffrey of Monmouth and William 
of Malmesbury, and it is written in lines of fourteen syllables, or of seven 
accents. It displays but little literary skill. The style, however, is so Eng¬ 
lish and so different from that of Layamon, a hundred years, earlier, that 
some regard this chronicle as commencing an era in our language. The 
following lines are specimens of the author's manner : 

# 

Engelond ys a wel god lond, ich wene of eche lond best, 

Y set in the ende of the world, as al in the West. 

The see goth hvm al a bout, he stont as an yle. . . 

In the contre of Canterbury mest plente of fysch ys. 

And mest chase about Salisburi of wild bestes y wys. 

At London schippes mest, and wyn at Wyncestre. 

At Herford schep and orf, and fruyt at Wircestre. 

Sope about Couyntre, yrn at Gloucestre. 

Metel, as led and tyn, in the contre of Excestre. 

ROBERT MANNYNG. 

The rhymed history of England, usually known as the Chronicle of Robert 
Mannyng, a monk of Brunne, in Lincolnshire, is the most voluminous, as 
well as the last conspicuous production of this period. Of its two parts, the 
second only has been published. It is a version of Peter Langtoft’s French 
metrical chronicle, and ends with the death of Edward I., in 1307. 

In his English translation of Grosseteste’s Manuel des Peches , Mannyng 
protests against all outlandish innovations : “ I seke,” says he, “ no straunge 
Ynglyss.” 

The following passage is from the opening of the second part of his 
Chronicle , which was composed about the year 1330. 


*Craik’s Eng. Lit., p. 1C3. 






OLD ENGLISH, OR EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 


55 


Lordynges that be now here, 

If ye wille listene and lere [learn] 

All the story of Inglande, 

Als [as] Robert Mannyng wryten it fand [found it written]. 

And on Inglysch has it sehewed, 

I^ot foi the lered but for the lewed [lay people] ; 

For tho [those] that on this land worm [dwell] 

That the Latin ne Frankys conn [know neither Latin nor French] 

For to hauf solace and gamen [enjoyment] 

In felauship when that sitt samen [together]; 

And it is wisdom for to wytten [know] 

Hie state of the land, and hef it wryten. 

What uianere of folk first it wan. 

And of what kynde it first began. 

And gude it is for many thynges 

For to here [hear] the dedis of kynges [the deeds of kings], 

Whilk [which] were foies, and whilk were wyse, 

And whilk of tham couth [knew] most quantyse [quaintness, he., artfulness]; 
And whilk did wrong, and whilk ryght, 

And whilk mayntened pes [peace] and fight. 

Minor Poets. 

Many of the most curious and important political productions of this 
period are in Latin. The minor poems may be divided into ballads, political 
songs, and devotional verse. “ The authors of some of these songs,” says 
Professor Marsh, “might even boast with Dante : Locutus sum in lingud 
trind ,” for occasionally French, Latin, and English, are intermixed, as in 
the following specimen: 

Quant homme deit parleir, videat qua? verba loquatur; 

Sen covent aver, ne stultior inveniatur. 

Quando quis loquitur, bote resoun reste thereynne, 

Derisum patitur, aut listel so shall he Wynne. 

En seynt eglise sunt multi soepe priores; 

Summe beoth wyse, multi sunt inferiores. 

Some of these poets deserve a special mention. Adam Davie flourished 
about the year 1812. His celebrity comes principally from the fact that a 
free translation into English verse of the French romance on Alexander the 
Great * was attributed to him, though without much ground. Other works 
more probably from his pen are Visions, The Battle of Jerusalem, The Legend 
of SL Alexius, Scripture Histories, Fifteen Tokens before the Day of Judgment, and 
Lamentations of Soids. Robert Raston was a Carmelite friar. It is said that 
Edward I. took this poet with him to sing his victories, but that Baston was 
made prisoner and compelled to write for his ransom a Panegyric on Robert 
Bruce. He wrote principally in Latin, and it is doubtful whether any of 
his English productions are now extant. Richard Rolle, a hermit of St. 
Augustin and a doctor of divinity, wrote metrical paraphrases of the Holy 
Scriptures, and other religious poems, which became very popular, llis 
English prose is better than bis verse. He died in 1348. 

rt was from this work, composed in twelve-syllable lines, that (lie name 
of “ Alexandrine verse” has been applied to the English hexameter line. 





56 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


FOURTH PERIOD. 

The Middle English Period, 1350-1580. 

(From the middle of the reign of Edward III. to the middle of 
Queen Elizabeth’s reign.) 

Farther Changes in the Form of the Language—Growing Import¬ 
ance of Literature—Sir John Mandeville—Geoffrey Chaucer — 
John Gower—John Lydgate—William Caxton—Blessed Thomas 
More—Roger Ascham—Scotch Writers — Barbour , James I. of 
Scotland, Robert Henryson , William Dunbar—Other Writers. 

FURTHER CHANGES IN THE FORM OF THE LANGUAGE. 

The new phase of language termed the Middle Eng¬ 
lish, presents itself in the latter half of the fourteenth 
century, and continues till the middle of Elizabeth’s 
reign. In this period, the speech of England, hereto¬ 
fore an ill-assorted mixture of discordant ingredients, 
became an organic combination, animated by a law of 
life, and endowed with a vigor and growth that prom¬ 
ised a long and healthful existence. A few specific 
features may be noticed. 

The Anglo-Saxon rules for the gender of substan¬ 
tives were set aside, and all names of things without 
life were, as ever afterwards, treated as neuters. 

The Semi-Saxon infinitive in en was sometimes re¬ 
tained; sometimes the final n was dropped; and this 
step was followed by the dropping of the e, which had 
then become of no use. Words of French origin 
began to be naturalized and freely incorporated into 
the language. 

The orthography was unsettled. The characters i 
and j were not discriminated, nor u and v. Long 
quantity, where necessary, was generally indicated by 
the insertion of a vowel or by a final e , but not uni- 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


57 


formly. The practice of marking short quantity by 
doubling the following consonant, was but partially 
observed. 

GROWING IMPORTANCE OF LITERATURE. 

The literary interest of this period lies chiefly in the 
prevalence which the vernacular idiom obtained over 
the French, and the general impetus given to studies: 
it prepared rather than accomplished great literary 
achievements. In the early part of the period, the 
court was yet essentially French; in the schools, Latin 
was studied through the French, and the greater part 
of writers still composed in Latin. Edward III., it is 
said, knew, or at any rate used, no more of English 
than a few phrases, such as: “ Ha! St. George! Ha! 
St. Edward! ” However, an act passed under his reign 
(1362) ordered that the pleadings in all lawsuits should 
thenceforth be carried on in English; and, under his 
successor, the same rule was applied to parliamentary 
proceedings. English was now taught, instead of 
French, in the “ gramraere scoles of Engelond.” The 
great success of the-English version of Mandeville’s 
Travels, affords another proof of the growing import¬ 
ance of the native language. Kings Henry IV. and 
Henry V., by writing their wills in English, set a good 
example, which their nobles made sure to follow. 
Edward IV. is the earliest king mentioned that ap¬ 
pointed a Poet Laureate or court-poet, and John Kay 
was the first that received the honor. 

A new impulse was given to the intellect of the na¬ 
tion by the introduction of printing into England in 
the year 1474, by William Caxton. The narrow curri¬ 
culum of philosophy, science, and language, which 
had been in use for centuries in the schools with little 


58 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


alteration, ceased now to give satisfaction. New sub¬ 
jects of study were introduced, among which Greek 
held the prominent place, and they were pushed for¬ 
ward with the greatest enthusiasm. The glory of the 
period is Geoffrey Chaucer, the Father of English Poe¬ 
try; its earliest ornament, Mandeville. 

Sir John Mandeville, 1300-1372. 

Sir John Mandeville, author of the first English 
book in prose, deservedly holds the first place on the 
list of English prose writers. He was born at St. Al¬ 
bans about the year 1300, and received a liberal educa¬ 
tion for the profession of medicine. Stimulated by a 
strong desire to visit foreign countries, he left England 
in 1322, and continued in a course of travels in which 
he is said to have spent thirty-four years. During this 
long period, he visited Palestine, Egypt, Persia, and 
parts of India and China, remaining three years at 
Pekin. After his return to his native land, in the year 
1356, he drew up an account of his observations in 
Latin, then “ put this boke out of Latyn into Frensche, 
and translated it agen out of Frensche into Englysche, 
that every man of my Nacioun may undirstonde it.” 
His narratives were at the time very popular, and ren¬ 
dered him celebrated throughout Europe. “ Of no 
book,” says Halliwell, “ with the exception of the 
Scriptures, can more manuscripts be found of the end 
of the fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth cent¬ 
ury.” There are no fewer than nineteen copies in the 
British Museum alone. 

Although the English of Mandeville is straightfor¬ 
ward and unad.orned, and his style idiomatic ; yet the 
proportion of words of Latin and French origin em¬ 
ployed by him, is greater than that found in the works 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


59 


of Chaucer, Gower, or any other English poet of that 
century. His work is purely a record of personal ob¬ 
servations, and a detail of information gathered from 
other sources. We are not bound to believe him, when 
he tells us of people who have no heads, but their eyes 
are in their shoulders; of people who have neither 
noses nor mouths; of people who have mouths so big, 
that, when they sleep in the sun, they cover the whole 
face with the upper lip; of people whose ears hang 
down to their knees; of people who have horses' feet; 
and feathered men who leap from tree to tree. There 
is no end to his extravagant stories, mixed up with cor¬ 
rect accounts. The work possesses no national tone or 
coloring, and little, if any, purely literary interest; but 
to the antiquarian it is interesting and valuable, chiefly 
as giving the earliest example, on a large scale, of Eng¬ 
lish prose. 

Sir John Mandeville died in 1372 at Liege, in Bel¬ 
gium, where a monument is erected to his memory. 

* The following extract from his writings is given in 
its antique text, with an interlinear modernized ver¬ 
sion, in order to convey a better idea of the progress 
which the language has since made. 


(From the Prologue.) 

For als moclie as the Lond bezonde the See, that is toseye, the 
For as much as the Land beyond the sea, that is to say, the 
Holy Lond, that men callen the Lond of Promyssioun, or of 
Holy Land, that men call the Land of Promise, or of 
Beheste, passynge alle othere Londes, is the most wortlii Lond, 
reward, passing all other Lands, is the most worthy Land, 
most excellent, and Lady as Sovcreyn of alle othere Londes, 
most excellent, and Lady as Sovereign of all other Lands, 
and is blessed and halewed of the precyous Body and Blood of 
and is blessed and hallowed of the precious Body and Blood of 
oure Lord Jesu Crist; in the whiche Lond it lykede him to 
our Lord Jesus Christ; in the which Land it pleased him to 


60 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


take Flesche and Blood of the Virgyne Marie, and become 
take Flesh and Blood of the Virgin Mary, and become 
Man, and worche many Myracles, and preclie and teche the 
Man, and work many miracles, and preach and teach the 
Feythe and the Lawe of Cristene Men nnto his children; and 
Faith and Law of Christian men unto his children; and 
there it lykede him to suffre many Reprevinges and Scornes 
there it pleased him to suffer many Reproaches and Scorns 
for us; and he that was Kyng of Hevene, of Eyr, of Ertlie, of 
for us; and he that was King of Heaven, of air, of earth, of 


See.A dere God, what Love had he to us his Subjettes, 

sea.A dear God, what Love had-he to us his subjects, 


whan he that never trespaced, wolde for Trepassours suffre 
when lie that never trespassed would for trespassers suffer 
Detlie!—Riglite well oughte us for to love and worschipe, to 
Death!—Right well ought we to love and worship, to 
drede and serven suclie a Lord; and to worschipe and prayse 
dread and serve such a Lord; and to worship and praise 
such an holy Lond, that broughte forthe suche Fruyt, thorghe 
such a holy Land, that brought forth such Fruit, through 
the wliiclie every Man is saved, but it be his own 
the which every Man is saved, except through his own 
defaute. 
fault. 

II. And I John Maundevylle knyghte aboveseyd, (alle 
And I John Mandeville, knight abovesaid, (al- 
thouglic I be unworthi) that departed from our countrees and 
though I be unworthy) that departed from our countries and 
passed the see, the yeer of grace 1322, that have passed manye 
passed the sea, the year of grace 1322, that have passed many 
londes and manye yles and contrees, and cerclied manye fulle 
lands and many isles and countries, and searched many full- 
straunge places, and have ben in manye a fulle gode honourable 
strange places, and have been in many a full-good honorable 
companye, and at manye a faire dede of arms, (alle be it that 
company, and at many a fair deed, of arms, (albeit that 
I ded none myself, for myn unable insufficance) now I am 
I did none myself, for mine unable insufficiency) now I am 

comen horn (mawgree my self) to reste.Wherefore I 

come home (maugre myself) to rest.Wherefore 1 

preye to alle the rederes ann hereres of this boke, zif it please 
pray to all the readers and hearers of this book, if it please 



THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


61 


hem, that thei wolde preyen to God for me: and I shalle preye 
them, that they would pray to God for me: and 1 shall pray 
for hem. And alle tlio that seyn for me a Pater noster, with 
for them. And all those that say for me a Pater noster, with 
an Ave Maria, that God forzeve me my synnes, I make hem 
an Ave Maria, that God forgive me my sins, I make them 
partners and graunte hem part of all the gode pilgrymages and 
partners and grant them part of all the good pilgrimages and 
of alle the gode dedes, that I have don, zif ony he to his ples- 
of all the good deeds, that I have done, if any be to his pleas- 
ance: and noglite only of tho, but of alle that evere I sclialle 
sure: and not only of those, but of all that ever I shall 
do unto my lyfes ende. 
do unto my life’s end. 

Geoffrey Chaucer, 1328-1400. 

Geoffrey Chaucer, the “ father of English poetry,” the 
“ morning star of song,” 

That renownmed Poet 
Dan Chaucer, Well of English undefyled, 

On Fame’s eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled, 

was born, probably in London, about 1332. His father 
and grandfather were vintners. Though we have no direct 
information of the place and manner of his education, his 
works give evidence that he was well trained in the classics 
and the general knowledge of his time. For a short while 
he lived as page in the service of Prince Lionel, second son 
of Edward III., after which he became attached to another 
son of the king, John of Gaunt or Ghent, Duke of Lan¬ 
caster. By the marrying of two sisters, Geoffrey and his 
patron became brothers-in-law. Already, at the death of 
the duke’s first wife (1369), Chaucer had paid honor to her 
memory by composing the funeral poem the Book of the 
Duchess. Chaucer was twice sent to Italy on political mis¬ 
sions, and at home was appointed to several offices, which, 
together with special grants of money from his patron, from 


62 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


King Richard II., and from Henry IV., gave him for a 
time a decent competency. The last decade of his life was 
beset with pecuniary distresses, the cause of which can only 
be surmised. 

The literary work of Chaucer consists mostly of narra¬ 
tives, many of these allegorical. His early pieces have 
much of the frigid conceit and pedantry of his age, when 
the passion of love seemed the enthroned sovereign, to 
whom all paid court, and the poetical worship of the rose 
and the daisy had supplanted the stateliness of the old 
romance. His style at the end of his life, as in the Pro¬ 
logue to the Canterbury Tales , was truly the standard, for 
the following two centuries, of English literary excellence. 

The Romaunt of the Rose , one of the earliest productions 
of Chaucer, is a translation of a part of a French poem. 
The original, which was considered a masterpiece, contained 
22,000 octo-syllabic lines, whereas the work of Chaucer con¬ 
tains only 7700 lines in rhyming couplets. The passion of 
love is portrayed under the allegory of a rose. 

The Flower and the Leaf is an allegorical poem written 
in the seven-line stanza sometimes called the Chaucerian 
stanza. The flower typifies vain pleasure; the leaf, “ which 
abides with the root,” is emblematical of virtue and in¬ 
dustry. “ There is no conclusive evidence for or against 
Chaucer’s authorship of The Flower and the Leaf” says 
Henry Morley.* Yet the poem is now generally regarded 
as not Chaucer’s. 

Troilus and Criseyde, written by Chaucer about 1370- 
1380, is a poem of 8250 verses in the seven-line stanza. 
The subject was a favorite legend of the Trojan war, and 
had been versified by Boccaccio in his Filostrato (1341). 
The English poet follows the Italian more or less closely, 
but he is more moral. The same subject has been drama¬ 
tized by Shakespeare. 


* English Writers, vol. v. pp. 249, 252. 




THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 63 

The House of Fame was written by Chaucer not very long 
before the year 1382, if we credit Henry Morley. Under 
the form of a dream or vision the poet gives a vivid picture 
of the Temple of Fame, to which he is himself carried by 
an eagle. 

He tells us 

Of this hille, that northewarde lay, 

How hit was writen ful of names, 

Of folkes that lindden grete fames 
Of olde tymes, and yet they were 
As fressh as men hadde writen hem here 
The selfe day, ryght or that oure 
That 1 upon hem gan to poure. 

Of the hall he informs us that every wall of it, and floor, 
and roof, was plated half a foot thick with gold, 

* Of whiche to litel al in my pouche is. 

The Legende of Goode Women is a poetical story, in 
rhyming couplets, of nine remarkable women of classic 
antiquity, preceded by a Prologue of 580 lines. Among 
his heroines we have Cleopatra, Dido, Lucretia, and Hy- 
permnestra. Alcestis, the queen of love, personifying the 
daisy, is the special object of his attention in the Prologue. 
Amid a strange blending of fact, mythology, and sound 
principles, womanly purity, innocence, and truthfulness 
seem to be the never-wearying object of the poet. This 
work was also suggested by one of Boccaccio.*)* 

Among his minor poems, Chaucer’s A. B. C.> or Prayer 
to Our Lady , in its twenty-three stanzas of eight lines, ex¬ 
presses the author’s tender and unaffected devotion to the 
mother of God. 

The Astrolahie is an unfinished treatise on astronomy, 
written in 1391 for the use of ‘ lytel Lowys his sonne.’ 


* It was The House of Fame that inspired Pope to write The Temple of Fame. 
t See Tennyson’s Dream of Fair Women. 



64 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


The Court of Love , The Cuckoo and the Nightingale , The 
Isle of Ladies , and Chaucer's Dream are usually found among 
the works of Chaucer, but there is no certainty about their 
authorship. The Testament of Love , a prose composition 
which imitates the Consolation of Boethius, was for a long 
time ascribed to Chaucer, but modern critics declare that 
it is surely not from his pen. 

When advanced in age, Chaucer composed the great work 
on which his fame chiefly rests, his Canterbury Tales , 
the most durable monument of his genius. These Tales 
are a series of independent stories, linked together by an 
ingenious device which was evidently suggested by the 
Decameron* of Boccaccio. A crowd of pilgrims, ‘ well 
nine and twenty in a company e/ on their way to the 
shrine of St. Thomas a Becket, at Canterbury, pass the 
night at the Tabard Inn, Southwark, where they make 
the acquaintance of our poet. Whilst at supper they 
agree to travel together to Canterbury; and, in order 
to relieve the tedium of the journey, each person, at 
the suggestion of the host of the Tabard, is to tell two 
stories in going, and two others in returning. But we 
are allowed to accompany the travellers on a part only 
of the journey, and to hear but twenty-four of their 
stories. The Prologue to the Tales, which contains 
eight hundred and sixty verses, describes the charac¬ 
ters of the pilgrims with unsurpassed simplicity and 
grace, but at the same time with all the prejudices of 
a Wyclifflte, especially against the monks and the 
ecclesiastical hierarchy. All ranks of society, except¬ 
ing the very highest and the very lowest, come in for 

* This work of Boocaccio consists of a hundred tales divided into decades, 
each decade occupying one day in the relation. They are narrated by a 
company of young persons of rank, who retired to a retreat on the banks of 
the Arno, in order to escape the infection of the terrible plague then raging 
in Florence. 




THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


65 


d share of the poet’s satirical humor or gentle praise, 
We have a Knight, who had fought against the ‘Hea¬ 
thenesse’ in Palestine; his son the young squire, at¬ 
tended by the Yeoman; and a ‘ Frankelein,’ or coun¬ 
try gentleman, in whose house ‘ it snowed of mete 
and drink.’ The peasantry are represented by the 
Ploughman, the Miller, the Reve or bailiff. Then 
come a group of ecclesiastical personages, at whose 
expense, with the exception of the Parish Priest, the 
poet indulges without stint his ridicule and censure. 
The learning of that age has three representatives: 
the ‘ Clerke from Oxford;’ the ‘Sergeant of the 
Lawe,’ very busy, but still proud ‘to seem busier 
than he is;’ and ‘the Doctor of Physike,’ who hap¬ 
pened to be a great astronomer, that ‘ studied every¬ 
thing but his Bible,’ and deemed ‘ Gold in phisike a 
great cordiale.’ The group from lower life is made 
up of the Haberdasher, Carpenter, Weaver, Dyer, Tap¬ 
estry-maker, and Cook. These, with a few others, 
including the host and the poet, are the far-famed 
pilgrims of Canterbury. 

“In elocution and eloquence,” says Warton, “in 
harmony and perspicuity of versification, Chaucer sur¬ 
passes his predecessors in an infinite proportion; his 
genius was universal, and adapted to themes of un¬ 
bounded variety.” All nature is with him alive with 
a fresh and active life-blood. His grass is the gladdest 
green; his birds pour forth notes the most thrilling, 
the most soothing that ever touched mortal ear. 

There was many and many a lovely note, 

Some singing loud, as if they had complained; 

Some with their notes another manner feigned; 

And some did sing all out with the full throat. 

Henry Morley considers the spirit of Chaucer as essen¬ 
tially dramatic. “ Had the mind of Chaucer stirred among 
5 


66 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


us in the days of Queen Elizabeth, his works would have 
been plays, and Shakespeare might have found his match. 
. . . He had that highest form of genius which can touch 
every part of human life, and, at the contact, be stirred to 
a simple sympathetic utterance. Out of a sympathy so 
large, good humor flows unforced, and the pathos shines 
upon us with a rare tranquillity. The meanness or the 
grandeur, fleshly grossness or ideal beauty, of each form 
of life is reflected back from the unrippled mirror of 
Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales as from no other work of man 
except the plays of Shakespeare.”* Like many others 
who have given their thoughts to the world without an ever¬ 
present proper sense of moral responsibility, Chaucer, in his 
last hours, bitterly bewailed some too-well remembered lines, 
which dying he vainly wished to blot. ‘ Wo is me! wo is me!’ 
he exclaimed in that solemn hour, ‘ that I cannot recall those 
things which I have written ; but, alas! they are now con¬ 
tinued from man to man, and I cannot do what I desire.’ ”f 
He died on the 25th of October, 1400, and was buried in 
Westminster Abbey. 


prologue.! 


Whan than Aprille with his schowres swoote 
The drought of Marche hath perced to the roote, 
And bathed every veyne in swicli licour, 

Of which vertue engendred is the flour; 

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breethe 
Enspired hath in every holte and heethe 
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne 
Hath in the Rani his halfe cours i-ronne, 

And small fowles maken melodie, 

I hat slepen al the night with open eye, 

So pricketh hem nature in her corages:— 
Thanne longen folk to gon on pilgrimages, 


* English Writers, vol. v. pp. 276, 277. 
f Allibone’s Diet. 

t The extracts from the Prologue are 
Chaucer of Rev. Richard Morris, LL.D. 


taken from the sixth edition of the 
(1879), collated from the best MSS. 





THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


67 


And palmers for to seeken straunge strondes, 

To feme halwes, kouthe in sondry londes; 

And specially, from every schires ende 
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, 

The holy blisful martir for to seeke, 

That hem hath liolpen whan that they were seeke. 

Byfel that, in that sesoun on a day, 

In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay, 

Hedy to wenden on my pilgrimage 
To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, 

At night was come into that hostelrie 
Wei nyne and twenty in a compainye, 

Of sondry folk, by aventure i-falle 
In felaweschipe, and pilgryms, were thei alle, 

That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde; 

The chambres and the stables weren wyde, 

And wel we weren esed atte beste. 

And schortly, whan the sonne was to reste, 

So hadde I spoken with hem everychon, 

That I was of here felaweschipe anon, 

And made forward erly for to ryse, 

To take our wey ther as I yow devyse. 

But natheless, whil I have tyme and space, 

Or that I forther in this tale pace, 

Me thinketh it accordaunt to resoun, 

To telle you al the condicioun 
Of eche of hem, so as it semede me, 

And whiche they weren, and of what degre; 

And eek in what array that they were inne: 

And at a knight than wol I first bygynne. 

A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man, 
That from the tyme that he first began 
To ryden out, he lovede chyvalrye, 

Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie. 

Ful worthi was he in his lordes werre, 

And therto hadde he riden, noman ferre, 

As wel in Cristendom as in hethenesse, 

And evere honoured for his worthinesse. 

At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne, 

Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bygonne 
Aboven alle naciouns in Pruce. 

In Lettowe hadde he reysed and in Ruce, 


68 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


No cristen man so ofte of his degre. 

In Gernade atte siege hadde he be 
Of Algesir, and riden in Belmarie. 

At Lieys was he, and at Satalie, 

When they were wonne; and in the Greete see 
At many a noble arive hadde he be. 

And mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene. 

And foughten for oure feith at Tramassene 
In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo. 

This ilke worthi knight hadde ben also 
Somtyme with the lord of Palatye, 

Ageyn another hethen in Turkye 

And everemore he hadde a sovereyn prys. 

And though that he was worthy, he was wys, 
And of his port as meke as is a mayde. 

He nevere yit no vileinye ne sayde 
In all his lyf, unto no manner wight. 

He was a verray perfight gentil knight. 

But for to tellen you of his array, 

His hors was good, but he ne was nought gay. 
Of fustian he werede a gepoun 
A1 bysmotered with his habergeoun. 

For lie was late ycome from his viage, 

And wente for to doon his pilgrimage. 

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also, 

That unto logik hadde longe i-go. 

As lene was his hors as is a rake, 

And he was not right fat, I undertake; 

But lokede holwe, and thereto soberly. 

Ful tliredbare was his overeste courtepy, 

For he hadde geten him yit no benefice, 

Ne was so worldly for to have office. 

For him was levere have at his beddes heede 
Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reede, 

Of Aristotle and his philosophic, 

Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sawtrie. 
But al be that he was a philosophre, 

Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre; 

But al that he mighte of his frendes hente, 
On bookes and on lernyng he it spente, 

And busily gan for the soules preye 
Of hem that yaf him wherwith to scoleye, 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH TERIOD. 


69 


Of studie took he most care and most liede. 

Not oo word spak he more than was neede, 

And that was seid in forme and reverence. 

And schort and quyk, and fill of high sentence. 
Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche, 

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche. 

A Sergeant of Lawe, war and wys 
That often hadde ben atte parvys, 

Ther was also, ful riche of excellence. 

Discret he w'as, and of gret reverence: 

He semede such, his words were so wise, 

Justice he was ful often in assise, 

By patente, and by pleyn commissioun; 

For his science, and for his heih renoun 
Of fees and robes hadde he many oon. 

So gret a purchasour was nowher noon. 

All was fee symple to him in effecte, 

His purchasyng mighte nought ben enfecte. 
Nowher so besy a man as he there nas, 

And yit he seemede besier than he was. 

In termes hadde caas and domes alle, 

That fro the tyme of Kyng William were falle. 
Therto he couthe endite, and make a thing, 
Ther couthe no wight pynche at his writyng; 
And every statute couthe he pleyn by roote. 

He rood but hoomly in a medle coote, 

Gird with a seynt of silk, with barres smale; 
Of his array telle I no lenger tale. 

A Frankeleyn was in his compainve; 
Whit was his berde, as is the dayesye. 

Of his complexioun he was sangwyn. 

Wei lovede he by the monve a sop in wyn. 

To lyven in delite was al his wone, 

For he was Epicurus owne sone, 

That heeld opynyoun that pleyn delyt 
Was verraily felicite perfyt. 

An houshaldere, and that a great, was he; 
Seynt Julian he was in his countrd. 

His breed, his ale, was alway after oon; 

A bettre envyned man was nowher noon. 
Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous, 

Of flessch and fissch, and that so plentevous, 


70 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Hit snewede in his hous of mete and drinke, 
Of alle deyntees that men cowde thinke. 

After the sondry sesouns of the yeer, 

So chaungede he his mete and his soper. 

Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in raewe, 
And many a brem and many a luce in stewe. 
Woo was his cook, but-if his sauce were 
Poynaunt and scharp, and redy al his gere. 

His table dormant in his lialle alway 
Stood redy covered al the longe day. 

At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire. 

Ful ofte tyme he was knight of the schire. 

An anlas and a gipser al of silk 
Heng at his girdel, whit as morne mylk. 

A schirreve had he ben, and a countour; 

Was nowher such a worthi vavasour. 
***** 

With us ther was a Doctour of Phisi/c , 

In al this world ne was ther non him lyk 
To speke of phisik and of surgerye; 

For he was grounded in astronomye. 

He kept his pacient wonderly wel 
In houres by his magik naturel. 

Wel cowde he fortunen the ascendent 
Of his ymages for his pacient. 

He knew the cause of every maladye, . 

Were it of hoot or cold, or moyste, or drye, 
And where engendred, and of what humour; 
He was a verrey parfight practisour. 

The cause i-knowe, and of his harm the roote, 
Anon he yaf the syke man his boote. 

Ful redy hadde he his apotecaries, 

To sende him dragges, and his letuaries, 

For ech of hem made other for to wynne; 
Here frendschipe nas not newe to begynne. 
Wel knew he the olde Esculapius, 

And Deiscorides, and eek Rufus; 

Old Ypocras, Haly, and Galien ; 

Serapyon, Razis, and Avycen ; 

Averrois, Damaseien, and Constantyn ; 
Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn. 

Of his diete mesurable was he, 

For it was of no superfluity 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


71 


But of gret norisohing and digestible. 

His studie was but litel on the Bible. 

In sangwin and in pers he clad was al, 

Lined with tafFata and with sendal. 

And jit he was but esj of dispence ; 

He kepte that he wan in pestilence. 

For gold in phisik is a cordial, 

Therfor he lovede gold in special. 

* * * * * * 

A good man was ther of rcligioun, 

And was a poure Persoun of a toun ; 

But riche he was of holy thought and werk. 

He was also a lerned man, a clerk 
That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche; 

His parischens devoutly wolde he teche. 

Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, 

And in adversite ful pacient; 

And such he was i-proved ofte sithes. 

Ful loth were him to curse for his tythes, 

But rather wolde he yeven out of dowte, 

Unto his poure parisschens aboute, 

Of his offrynge, and eek of his subsiaunce. 

He could in litel thing han suffisaunce. 

Wyd was his parische, and houses for asonder, 

But he ne lafte not for reyne ne thonder, 

In sicknesse nor in meschief to visite 
The ferreste in his parissche, moche and lite 
Uppon his feet, and in his hond a staf. 

This noble ensample to his scheep he vaf, 

That first he wroughte, and afterward he taughte, 
Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte, 

And this figure he addede eek thereto, 

That if gold ruste, what schal yren doo? 

For if a prest be foul, on whom we truste, 

No wonder is a lewde man to ruste; 

And schame it is, if that a prest take kepe, 

A [foul] scbepherde [to se] and a clene schepe; 
Wei oughte a prest ensample for to yive, 

By Jiis clennesse, how that his scheep schulde lyve. 
He sette not his benefice to hyre. 

And leet his scheep encombred in the myre, 


72 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


And ran to Londone, unto seynte Poule3 
To seeken him a chaunterie for soules, 

Or with a bretherhede to ben withholde; 

But dwelte at boom, and kepte wel his folde. 

So that the wolf ne made it not myscarye ; 

He was a schepherde and no mercenarie. 

And though he holy were, and vertuous. 

He was to sinful man nought despitous, 

Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne. 

But in his teching discret and benigne. 

To drawe folk to heven by fairnesse 
By good ensample, this was his busynesse: 

But it were eny persone obstinat, 

What so he were, of hi^h or lowe estat, 

Him wolde he snybbe scharply for the nones. 

A bettre preest, I trowe, they nowher non is. 

He waytede after no pompe and reverence, 

Ne makede him a spiced conscience, 

But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, 

He taughte, but first he folwede it himselve. 

FROM CHAUCER’S A. B. C., CALLED LA PRIERE DE NOSTRE 

DAME. 


c. 

Comfort ys'noon, but in yow, Lady dere! 

For loo my synne and my confusioun, 

Which oughte not in thy presence for to appere, 
Han take on me a grevouse accionn. 

Of verray ryght and disperacioun! 

And as by ryglit they mygliten wel sustene, 

That I were worthy my damnacioun, 

Nere mercye of yow, blysful hevenes qneene! 


E. 

Evere hath myn hope of refute in the he; 

For here before ful often in many a wyse, 
Unto mercy hastow receyved me. 

But mercy, Lady! at the grete assise, 

Whan we shal come before the bye justise! 
So litel good shal then in me be founde, 

That, but thou er that day correcte me, 

Of verray ryght my werke wol me confounde. 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


73 


G. 

Gloriouse mayde and moder! wliiclie that never 
Were bitter nor in ertlie nor in see, 

But ful of swetnesse and of mercye ever, 

Help, that my fader he not wroth! 

Speke tliow, for I ne dar nat him yse; 

So have I doom in ertlie, alias the while! 

That certes, but that tliow my socour be, 

To synke eterne he wol my goost exile. 

Q. 

Queene of Comfort, yet whan I me Lethynke, 

That I agilite have bothe liym and thee, 

And that my soule ys worthy for to synke, 

Allas! I, katyf, whider may I fle! 

Who slial unto thy Sone my mene be ? 

Who, but thy selfe, that art of pitee welle ? 

Thou hast more routhe on Pure adversite 
Than in this world myght any tonge telle. 

John Gower, 1325 (?)- 1402 . 

The .personal history of John Gower, thw contem¬ 
porary and friend of Chaucer, is involved in great ob¬ 
scurity. He was liberally educated, having studied at 
Merton College, Oxford, and was a member of the So¬ 
ciety of the Inner Temple.* He appears to have been 
in affluent circumstances, as he contributed largely to 
the building of the conventual church of St. Mary 
Overies, in Southwark. Peacham, in his Compleat 
Gentleman, says of him: “His verses, to say the truth, 
were poor and plaine, yet full of good and grave moral- 
itie; but, while he affected altogether the French 
phrase and words, made himself too obscure to his 


* The colleges of the English professors and students of common law are 
called Inns. The four principal Inns of Court are the Inner Temple, tho 
Middle Temple, Lincoln’s Inn, and Gray’s Inn. At the present day, before 
being called to the Bar, it is necessary to be admitted a member of one of 
the Inns of Court. 



74 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


reader; besides, his invention coraeth far short of the 
promise of his titles.” He is on all occasions serious 
and didactic, and so uniformly grave and sententious, 
even upon topics which might inspire vivacity, that he 
is characterized by Chaucer as the ‘ Morall Gower/ 

His principal work consists of three parts, the third 
of which alone has been printed: 

1. Speculum Meditantis , a moral tract in French 
rhymes. This work has not been seen in modern times, 
and has in all probability perished. 

2. Vox Clamantis , a metrical chronicle of the insur¬ 
rection of the Commons under Richard II. It consists 
of seven books in Latin elegiacs. 

3. Confessio A mantis, an English poem in octo-syl- 
labic Romance metre, said to contain 30,000 verses; it 
treats of the morals and metaphysics of love. The 
language is tolerably perspicuous, and the versification 
often harmonious; ‘but the amount of edification or 
entertainment to be got out of the Confessio Amantis 
is not very considerable.’ 

He died at an advanced age in 1402, and was buried 
in St. Mary Overies, now St. Saviour’s Church, to which 
he was a benefactor, and in which his tomb is still to 
be seen. 

The following lines, taken from the fifth book of his 
Confessio Amantis, are given as a specimen of the spell¬ 
ing and archaisms of his time: 

In a cronique thus I rede: 

Aboute a king, as must nede, 

Tlier was of knyglites and squiers 
Gret route, and eke of officers: 

Some of long time him liadden served, 

And thoughten that they have deserved 
Advancement, and gon withoute: 

And some also ben of the route, 

That comen but a while agon, 

And they avauced were anon. 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


75 


John Lydgate, 1375 (?)-1430. 

Of the immediate followers of Chaucer and Gower, 
John Lydgate is the most distinguished versifier. He 
was a monk of the Benedictine Abbey of Bury St. Ed¬ 
mund's in Suffolk, and flourished in the reigns of 
Henry V: and Henry VI. He was regarded as a prodigy 
of learning at the period in which he lived. He had 
travelled in France and Italy, and mastered the lan¬ 
guage and literature of both countries. On his return to 
England, he opened a school at his monastery, and gave 
instruction in poetry and rhetoric, and even in mathe¬ 
matics and theology. Though his style is often very 
diffuse and more antique than Chaucer’s, he has the 
credit of having improved the poetical language of the 
country. His poems range over a great variety of sub¬ 
jects. His principal pieces are The Fall of Princes , 
taken from Boccaccio, The Story of Thebes , and The 
History of Troy containing about 28,000 verses. Be¬ 
sides these, a list has been given of his other pieces to 
the number of 251, existing in manuscripts in different 
libraries. 

Lydgate wrote in verse a life of St. Edmund, which 
he dedicated to Henry VI. 

Warton says of him: “ He is the first of our writers 
whose style is clothed with that perspicuity in which 
the English phraseology appears, at this day, to an 
English reader.” 

We give, with some changes in the spelling, the fol¬ 
lowing beautiful lament, taken from his Testament: 

CHRIST DESCRIBES HIS SUFFERINGS. 

Behold, O man! lift up thine eye, and see 
What mortal pain I suffered for thy trespace! 

With piteous voice I cry, and say to thee, 

Behold my wounds, behold my bloody face! 


76 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Behold the rebukes, that do me so menace, 

Behold mine enmyes that do me so despise. 

And how that I, to reform thee to grace, 

Was, like a lamb, offered in sacrifice! 

Behold the mynstrys,* which had me in keeping, 

Behold the pillar and the ropis strong, 

Where 1 was bound, my sides down bleeding, 

Most felly beat with their scoorges long! 

Behold the battle which I did underfong,t 
The brunt abiding of their mortal f emprise! 

Through their accusing and their slanders wrong, 

Was [I], like a lamb, offered in sacrifice. 

Behold and see the hateful wretchedness, 

Put again me to my confusion, 

Mine eyen hid and blinded with darkness, 

Beat and eke bobbid § by false illusion, 

Sal wed || in scorn by their false kneeling downl 
Behold all this, and see the mortal guise, 

How I, alone, for man’s salvacion, 

Was, like a lamb, offered in sacrifice. 

See my disciples, how they half me forsake, 

And fro me fled, almost every one, 

See how they slept and list not with me wake! 

Of mortal dread they left me all alone, 

Except my Mother and my cousin John, 

My death complaining in most doleful wise; 

See fro my cross they wolde never gone, 

For man’s offense when I did sacrifice. 

Behold the knights,* § ** which, by their frowavd cliaunce, 
Sat for my clothes at the dice to play! 

Behold my Mother, swouning for grcvaunce, 

Upon the cross when she sawhe ft me die! 

Behold the sepulchre in which my bonys lie. 

Kept with strong watclie till I did arise! 

Of hell gates see how I brak the key , 

And gave for man my blood in sacrifice! 


* Ministers, officers. 

§ Deceived. 

** Soldiers 


t Undertake. 
I! Saluted, 
tt Saw. 


X Deadly work. 
If Have. 




THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


77 


Turn home again, thy sinne do forsake, 

Behold and see if aught be left behind, 

How I to mercy am ready thee to take; 

Give me thine heart and be no more unkind I 
Thy love and mine togidre do them bind, 
And let them never parte in no wise: 

When thou wer lost, thy soul again to find, 
My blood I offer’d for thee in sacrifice. 


William Caxton, 1412(?)-1492. 

William Caxton, memorable as the first English 
printer, and as a voluminous translator, was born in 
Kent about 1412. He spent twenty-three years in Hol¬ 
land and Flanders; and, whilst there, made himself 
master of the art of printing, then recently introduced 
on the Continent. Having translated a French book 
styled Recuyell des Histoires de Troyes, he printed it at 
Ghent in 1471. This was the first book in the English 
language ever issued from the press. He afterwards 
established a printing office at Westminster, and pub¬ 
lished (1477 ?) The Game and Playe of the Chesse, 
which was probably the first book printed in England. 
In the Caxton celebration, held in 1877, to commemo¬ 
rate this event, no fewer than 190 copies of books 
printed by Caxton were exhibited, representing 104 
distinct works. A much larger number might have 
been collected, had not the English Parliament of 
1550 ordered the destruction of all Catholic books. 
Caxton was one of the most industrious and indefa¬ 
tigable men. He united with industry great modesty 
and simplicity of character, and styled himself ‘ Sim¬ 
ple William Caxton/ He calls Chaucer, whose Can¬ 
terbury Tales he took great pains to have correctly 
printed, ‘the worshippful father and first founder 
and embellisher of ornate eloquence in our English.’ 


78 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


It is said that he completed, on the day of his death, 
the translation of Vitce Patrum, or “ The Righte 
Devout and Solitairye Lyfe of the Ancient or Olde 
Holy Faders, Hermytes Dwelling in the Deserts.” 

Blessed Thomas More, 1480 - 1535 . 

Sir Thomas More, the most distinguished character 
in the reign of Henry VIII., was horn in London in 
the year 1480. He was the son of a judge of the King’s 
Bench, and was educated at Oxford. Science and 
virtue had great attractions for him, and he culti¬ 
vated both with eminent success. He was a man of 
true genius and possessed a mind enriched with all the 
learning of his time. He ranks with Bishop Fisher 
and Cardinal Pole among the leading Roman Catholic 
writers of the reign of Henry VIII. His sagacity 
and talents, displayed in various honorable and im¬ 
portant public functions, especially in the confer¬ 
ence for the peace of Cambrai in 1529, caused him 
to be raised to the dignity of Lord High Chancellor. 

His Utopia, written in Latin, and first published in 
1518, was translated into English as early as 1551 by 
Robinson, and later by Bishop Burnet. It is a curious 
philosophical work, full of profound observations and 
shrewd insights into human nature, which describes 
an imaginary model country and people, in imitation 
of Plato’s Commonwealth. The word * utopia ’ has, 
since his time, become an English word, applied to any 
scheme of ideal perfection that cannot be carried out. 
“ If false and impracticable theories,” says Ilallam, 
“ are found in the Utopia (and perhaps More knew 
them to be such), this is in a much greater degree true 
of the Platonic Republic; and they are more than 
compensated by the sense of justice and humanity that 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


79 


pervades it, and his bold censures on the vices of 
power.” 

His History of Edward V., of his Brother, and of 
Richard III., is, in HallanPs judgment, the earliest 
specimen of dignified idiomatic prose, without vulgar¬ 
ism or pedantry. It is certainly the first English his¬ 
tory that can be said to aspire to be more than a chron¬ 
icle, and is characterized by an easy narrative that 
rivals the sweetness of Herodotus. “ No historians 
either of ancient or modern times,” says Hume, “ can 
possibly have more weight. He may justly be es¬ 
teemed a contemporary with regard to the murder of 
the two princes; and it is plain from his narrative that 
he had the particulars from the eye-witnesses them¬ 
selves.” 

More also wrote a great number of devotional treat¬ 
ises and controversial tracts. Among these may be 
mentioned an answer to the work of Luther against the 
king of England, divided into two books; and an ex¬ 
planation of the Passion of our Lord, with a beautiful 
prayer taken from the Psalms. 

Sir Thomas More was unjustly imprisoned and con¬ 
demned to death by Henry VIII., for refusing to take 
the oath of supremacy in which the king was declared 
to be the supreme head of the Church. In prison, 
some of his friends endeavored to gain him over by rep¬ 
resenting to him that he ought not to entertain any 
other opinion than that of the Parliament of England. 
“I should mistrust myself,” he said, “ to stand alone 
against the whole Parliament; but I have on my side 
the whole Catholic Church, the great parliament of 
Christians.” When his wife conjured him to obey the 
king, and preserve his life for the consolation and sup¬ 
port of his children, “ How many years,” says he, 
“do you think I have still to live?” She replied* 


80 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


“More than twenty.” “ Ah, my wife,” he continued, 
“ do you wish that 1 should exchange eternity for 
twenty years?” Indeed a character of greater disin¬ 
terestedness and integrity cannot he found in ancient 
or modern history. The poet Thomson pays him this 
beautiful and well-deserved tribute of praise: 

‘ Like Cato firm, like Aristides just." 

Faithfully and firmly attached to the principles of 
the Catholic faith, he lived amid the splendors of the 
court without pride, and perished on the scaffold with¬ 
out weakness. His death was that of the Christian 
martyr. By a decree of Pope Leo XIII., December 29th, 
1886, he was declared Blessed, together with Cardinal 
Fisher and fifty-two others who died for the faith from 
1585 to 1583. 

“ In the pictures of Holbein, in his Life by Roper and 
by Mackintosh, and in his correspondence with Erasmus, 
where he is seen in his house at Chelsea paying reverence 
to his parents and playing with his children, he has become 
endeared to modern readers, while his cheerful disposition 
is just such as we naturally associate with true greatness 
and welcome wherever it is found.” 

We give as one of the extracts a letter written by Sir 
Thomas More on learning that his barns and those of his 
neighbors were burned down. We commend its spirit of 
gentleness and piety. The original spelling is preserved. 

Letter to Lady More. 

Maistres Alyce, in my most harty wise I recommend me to you; 
and whereas I am enfourmed by my son Heron of the losse of 
our barnes and our neighbours also, with all the corn that was 
therein, albeit (saving God’s pleasure) it is gret pitie of so 
much good corne lost, yet sitli it hath liked hym to sende us 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


81 


such a chaunce we must and are bounden, not only to be con¬ 
tent, but also to be glad of liis visitacion. 

He sente us all that we have loste; and sith he hath by such 
a chaunce taken it away againe, his pleasure be fulfilled. Let 
us never grudge ther at, but take it in good worth, and hartely 
thank him as well for adversitie as for prosperitie. And per- 
adventure we have more cause to thank him for our losse then 
for our winning; for his wisdome better seetli what is good for 
us then we do our selves. 

Therefore I pray you be of good chere, and take all the hows- 
old with you to church, and there thanke God, both for that 
he hath given us and for that he hath taken from us, and for 
that he hath left us, which, if it please liym, he can encrease 
when he will. And if it please him to leave us yet lesse, at his 
pleasure be it. 

I pray you to make some good ensearche what my poore 
neighbours have loste, and bid them take no thought therefore: 
for and * I sliold not leave myself a spone, there slial no pore 
neighbour of mine bere no losse by any chaunce happened in 
my house. I pray you be with my children and your household 
merry in God. And devise some what with your frendes, 
what waye wer best to take, for provision to be made for oorne 
for our liouseholde, and for sede thys yere comming, if ye thinke 
it good that we kepe the ground stil in our liandes. And 
whether ye think it good that we so slial do or not, yet I think 
it were not best sodenlye thus to leave it all up, and to put 
away our folk of our farme till we have somewhat advised us 
thereon. 

How beit if we have more nowe than ye slial nede, and which 
can get them other maisters, ye may then discharge us of them. 
But I would not that any man were sodenly sent away he wote 
nere wether. 

At my comming hither I perceived none other but that I 
should tary still with the Kinges Grace. 

But now I shall (I think) because of this chance, get leave 
this next weke to come home and se you: and then shall we 
further devyse together uppon all tliinges, what order shall be 
best to take. 

And thus as hartely fare you well with all our children as ye 


0 


* And means if. 




82 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


can wishe. At Woodestoke the third day of Septembre by the 
hand of 

your loving liusbande, 

Thomas More Knight. 

CHARACTER OF RICHARD III. 

Richard, the third son, of whom we now entreat, was in wit 
and courage equal with either of them; in body and prowess, 
far under them both; but little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, 
crook-backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, 
hard-favored of visage. He was malicious, wrathful, envious, 
and from afore his birth ever froward. 

None evil captain was he in the war, as to which his dispo¬ 
sition was more meetly than for peace. Sundry victories had 
he, and sometime overthrows, but never in default for his own 
person, either of hardiness or politic order. Free was he 
called of dispense, and somewhat above his power liberal. 
With large gifts he get him unsteadfast friendship, for which 
he was fain to pil and spoil in other places, and get him stead¬ 
fast hatred. He was close and secret; a deep dissimuler 
lowly of countenance, arrogant of heart; outwardly coumpi- 
nable where he inwardly hated; dispitious and cruel, not for 
evil will alway, but oftener for ambition, and either for the 
surety and increase of his estate. Friend and foe was indif¬ 
ferent where his advantage grew; he spared no man’s death 
whose life withstood his puipose. He slew with his own hands 
King Henry YL being prisoner in the Tower. 


Roger Asciiam, 1515 - 1568 . 

Roger Ascbam, at one time preceptor, and ultimately 
Latin Secretary to Queen Elizabeth, is the first writer 
on education in our language. He took his degree in 
the University of Cambridge at the age of nineteen. 
His two principal works are, Toxophilus and The School¬ 
master. 

Toxophilus, published in 1544, is a dialogue on the 
art of archery, designed to promote an elegant and 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


83 


useful mode of recreation among those who, like him¬ 
self, gave most of their time to study, and also to ex¬ 
emplify a style of composition more purely English than 
what was in vogue at that time. 

The Schoolmaster , printed after his death, contains 
good general views of education, and what Johnson ac¬ 
knowledges to be f perhaps the best advice that was 
ever given for the study of languages/ 

His writings are in pure, idiomatic, vigorous Eng¬ 
lish. They exhibit great variety of knowledge, remark¬ 
able sagacity, and sound common-sense. In his dedica¬ 
tion of Toxophilus to the gentlemen and yeomen of 
England, he recommends to all who write in any tongue, 
the counsel of Aristotle: “To speak as the common 
people do, to think as wise men do.” From this we 
may perceive that he had a proper regard for what was 
due to the great fountain-head and oracle of the 
national language—the vocabulary of the common 
people. 

He was never robust; and his death, which happened 
in 1568, was occasioned by too close application to the 
composition of a Latin poem, which he intended to 
present to Queen Elizabeth on the anniversary of her 
accession to the throne. 

The following extracts from the opening of the Tox¬ 
ophilus, show that what was good sense and sound phi¬ 
losophy in Ascham’s time, is so still, and that the 
lesson is not less required at the present time, than it 
was then. 

STUDY SHOULD BE RELIEVED BY AMUSEMENT. 

PMlologus—llow much in this matter is to be given to the 
authority of Aristotle or Tully, I cannot tell, seeing sad men 
may well enough speak merrily for a mere matter; this I am 
sure, which thing this fair wheat (God save it) maketh me 
remember, that those husbandmen which rise earliest, and 


84 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


come latest home, and are content to have tlieir dinner and other 
drinkings brought into the field to them, for fear of losing time, 
have fatter barns in the harvest, than they which will either 
sleep at noontime of the day, or else make merry with their 
neighbors at the ale. And so a scholar, that purposetli to be 
a good husband, and desireth to reap and enjoy much fruit of 
learning, must till and sow thereafter. Our best seed-time, 
which bo scholars, as it is very timely, and when we be young; 
so it endureth not over long, and therefore it may not be let 
slip one hour; our ground is very hard and full of weeds; our 
horse wherewith we be drawn very wild, as Plato saith. And 
infinite other mo lets,* which will make a thrifty scholar take 
heed how he spendeth his time in sport and play. 

OCCUPATIONS SHOULD BE CHOSEN SUITABLE TO THE NATURAL 

FACULTIES. 

If men would go about matters which they should do and be 
fit for, and not such things which wilfully they desire and yet 
be unfit for, verily greater matters in the commonwealth than 
shooting should be in better case than they be. This ignorance 
in men which know not for what time and to what thing 
they be fit, causeth some wish to be rich, for whom it were 
better a great deal to be poor; other to be meddling in every 
man’s matter, for whom it were more honesty to be quiet and 
still; some to desire to be in the court, whiclf be born and be 
fitter rather for the cart; some to be masters and rule others, 
which never yet began to rule themselves; some always to 
jangle and talk, which rather should hear and keep silence; 
some to teach, which rather should learn; some to be priests, 
which were fitter to be clerks. And this perverse judgment of 
the world, when men measure themselves amiss, bringetli 
much disorder and great unseemliness to the whole body of the 
commonwealth, as if a man should wear his hose upon his 
head, or a woman go with a sword and a buckler, every man 
would take it as a great uncomeliness, although it be but a trifle 
in respect of the other. 

This perverse judgment of men liindereth nothing so 
much as learning, because, commonly those that be unfittest 
for learning, be chiefly set to learning. As if a man nowadays 
have two sons, the one impotent, weak, sickly, lisping, stutter- 


* Mo lets means more obstacles. 



THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


85 


mg and stammering, or having any mis-shapc in his body; 
what doth the father of such one commonly say? This boy is 
fit for nothing else, but to set to learning and make a priest of, 
as who would say, the outcasts of the world, having neither 
countenance, tongue, nor wit (for of a perverse body cometh 
commonly a perverse mind), be good enough to make those 
men of, which shall be appointed to preach God’s holy word, 
and minister his blessed sacraments, besides other most 
weighty matters in the commonwealth; put oft times, and 
worthily, to learned men’s discretion and charge; when rather 
such an office so high in dignity, so goodly in administration 
should be committed to no man, which should not have a 
countenance full of comeliness to allure good men, a body full 
of manly authority to fear ill men, a wit apt for all learning, 
with tongue and voice able to persuade all men. And al¬ 
though few such men as these can be found in a commonwealth, 
yet surely a goodly disposed man will both in his mind think 
fit, and with all his study labor, to get such men as I speak 
of, or rather better, if better can be gotten, for such an high 
administration, which is most properly appointed to God’s own 
matters and businesses. 


SCOTCH WRITERS. 

During this period the literature of Scotland dawned, 
and soon rose to considerable splendor; but was soon 
overcast by the gloomy spirit of Puritanism. 

The language spoken in the Lowland districts during 
the fourteenth century, was nearly the same as that of 
England. It was in this language that Barbour, Arch¬ 
deacon of Aberdeen, wrote his heroic and patriotic poem, 
The Bruce , which has ever been a favorite with his coun¬ 
trymen. It celebrates the exploits of Robert Bruce, who, 
by the victory of Bannockburn, asserted the independence 
of Scotland, and obtained the crowm for himself. It con¬ 
tains seven thousand rhyming couplets, and has the rare 
merit of combining spirited and harmonious poetry with 
truthful history. Barbour composed another work, The 
Brute , which is lost. His death occurred in 1395. 


86 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


A few other writers deserve also a special mention. James 
I. of Scotland (1394-1436) is the author of the King's 
Quhair (quire or book), remarkable for its simplicity, feel¬ 
ing, and poetical spirit. Blind Harry, or Harry the 
Minstrel, produced about 1460 his poem on the adven¬ 
tures of Wallace. “ Considered as the composition of a 
blind mail,” says Thomas Arnold, “ The Wallace is a re¬ 
markable production. Considered as a work of art, a more 
execrable poem perhaps was never composed. Yet national 
resentment and partiality have made the Scotch, from the 
fifteenth century down to the present time, delight in this 
tissue of lies and nonsense.”* 

Robert Henryson, or Henderson, also a Scottish poet 
much renowned in his time, is supposed to have been a 
Benedictine and to have died before 1508. He wrote the 
beautiful pastoral of Robin and Makyne , printed among 
Percy’s Reliques, also a translation of Aesop’s Fables, and 
some other small poems. The fable of The Town Mouse 
and the Country Mouse is rendered with much humor and 
characteristic description. 

Gawin Douglas (1475-1522), Bishop of Dunkeld, made 
himself famous for his translation into English verse of the 
iEneid, his being the first metrical version of any ancient 
classic in the English or Scottish dialect. He wrote also two 
long allegorical poems, The.Palace of Honour and King Hart. 

William Dunbar (1465-1530), a Franciscan friar, 
is styled by Craik “the Chaucer of Scotland,” and by 
Walter Scott, “a poet unrivalled by any that Scotland 
has produced.” His poems belong to three classes, the 
allegorical, the moral, and the comic. The Thistle and the 
Rose, The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins, and The Golden 
Terge, are his principal allegories. Of his moral poems, 
the best is The Merle and the Nightingale, who are made 

* Manual of Eng. Lit., p. 101. 




THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


87 


to discuss the comparative merits of earthly and heavenly 
love, the last verse being an acknowledgment that 

All love is lost but upon God alone. 

In the opinion of Craik, “ Burns is certainly the only 
name among the Scottish poets that can be placed in the 
same line with that of Dunbar; and even the inspired 
ploughman, though the equal of Dunbar in comic power 
and his superior in depth of passion, is not to be com¬ 
pared with the elder poet either in strength or in general 
fertility of imagination;” 

Sir David Lindsay (1490-1555) lived at the court of 
James V., whom he survived. After the king’s death he 
wrote satirical tales and plays, in which he too often en¬ 
deavors to throw ridicule on churchmen or the Church. 

OTHER WRITERS OF THE FOURTH PERIOD. 

Lawrence Minot (died about 1360) wrote ten poems 
to celebrate the victories of Edward III. These poems, 
unknown to the older critics, were accidentally discovered 
near the close of the last century. According to Craik, 
they are remarkable for a precision, selectness, and force 
of expression previously unexampled in English verse. 
The stanzas are of six lines of three or four feet, rhyming 
first line with second, third with sixth, fourth with fifth. 
Of Minot’s personal history nothing is known. 

William or Robert Langlande, floruit 1360, is thought 
to be the author of the Vision of Piers (Peter) Plowman. 
He is also supposed to have been a fnonk or a secular priest. 
The work comprises 14,000 lines of two feet (or 7000 of 
four feet), which have no rhyme, but an alliteration as 
regular as that of the old Saxon poems. Under the form 
of a vision or dream the poet indulges a taste for satire. 
All orders of men, but particularly the religious, serve as 
a target for his shafts. As has been justly remarked, 


88 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


the credit due to a satirist depends much upon his known 
character and motives; and of these, in the present in¬ 
stance, we have no certain knowledge. According to 
Wright, there is in the Vision no heretical doctrine; but 
the same cannot be said of Piers Plowman’s Crede, a shorter 
poem, written soon after by a follower of Wyclif. This 
author, says Wright, “ is the simple representative of the 
peasant rising to judge and act for himself—the English 
sans-culotte of the fourteenth century, if we may be allowed 
the comparison.” 

John Wyclif (1324-1384) wrote in Latin many works 
of theology or controversy, in which he attacked indis¬ 
criminately all those who belonged to the regular or sec¬ 
ular clergy, together with the pope, bishops, and other 
dignitaries, as being no better than liars and fiends, hyp¬ 
ocrites and traitors, heretics and antichrists.* His itinerant 
priests alone were the true evangelical preachers. Wyclif 
deserves the title of first English reformer. The term, 
when applied to the Church founded by Christ, is self-con¬ 
demning, for it argues a want of faith in His power to keep 
for ever in the truth that Church for which He gave His life, 
and which His apostle Paul styles “ the Church of the living 
God, the pillar and ground of the truth.” Among Wyclif’s 
English writings, a translation of the Bible is ascribed to 
him. There is little doubt that he had the principal share 
in the new translation which was then made. Sir Thomas 
More testifies that long before Wyclif there was an Eng¬ 
lish version of the Scriptures.f English or Anglo-Saxon 
translations of the Gospels, of the Psalms, and of some 
other parts of the Bible were certainly in existence. 
Wyclif is also the author of many original writings in 
defence of his reforming views in theology and church 


* See Lingard’s Hist, of England, vol. iv. p. 158. 
t See Kenrick’s Bible, Introduction to the Gospels, p. iv. edit. 1862. 




THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 89 

government. “ His style,” says Prof. Craik* “ is every¬ 
where coarse and slovenly, though sometimes animated 
by a popular force or boldness of expression.” It seems 
to be now satisfactorily proved that Wyclif before his 
death recanted his errors. 

John Fisher (1459-1585), the saintly Bishop of Roch¬ 
ester, was no less distinguished for his learning than for 
his piety and greatness of soul. He published some ser¬ 
mons and theological treatises. When so many others 
abandoned the true Church at the bidding of a cruel 
tyrant, John Fisher had the courage to seal his faith with 
his blood. Like More, he has been ranked among the 
Blessed by Pope Leo XIII. 

Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542), a distinguished diplo¬ 
matist under Henry VIII., was also a poet of note. His 
poems are chiefly amatory or satirical. 

Sir Thomas Elyot (d. 1546), a friend of Sir Thomas 
More, is the author of a poetical treatise, The Governor, 
which passed through many editions, and of a Latin and 
English Dictionary. 

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, a warrior, courtier, 
and poet, introduced into England the sonnet form of 
composition, and was the first English poet that wrote in 
blank verse. This last form of verse he used in the trans¬ 
lation of the second and fourth books of the JEneid. The 
characteristics of Surrey’s poetry are delicacy and tender¬ 
ness. He was only thirty-one years of age when, on a 
groundless charge of high treason, he was beheaded in 1547 
by the order of Henry VIII. 

John Leland (d. 1552) is generally mentioned as the 
earliest of eminent English antiquaries. He collected a 
prodigious number of manuscripts, and for six years he 
endeavored to arrange and digest them. But his brain 


* Eng. Lit., p. 165. 



90 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


gave way under the pressure of mental labor. The writ¬ 
ings that resulted from his researches are in Latin. 

Besides the writers and writings of the fourth period 
that we have mentioned, many others might be named. 
Indeed, Ritson gives a list of seventy English poets, so 
called, who flourished from the time of Chaucer to that 
of Surrey. Many productions, too, may have perished 
together with the names of their authors, and this for 
two causes: the first, because before the invention of 
printing, a great part of the popular poetry existed 
only in the memories of its authors ; the second, be¬ 
cause the plunder of libraries under Henry VIII. and 
his successor, did away with all manuscripts and printed 
books of the old Catholic times that could he found. 
“ Whole shiploads of manuscripts were sent as waste 
paper to foreign countries.” * “ Whole libraries, the 

getting of which together had taken ages upon ages, 
and had cost immense sums of money, were scattered 
abroad by these hellish ruffians (the agents of Thomas 
Cromwell), when they had robbed the covers of their 
rich ornaments. 


* White’s Hist, of Great Brit., in Hill’s British Catholic Toets. 
f Cobbett’s Reform, Letter the 6th. John Bale (1495-1563), an apostate Car¬ 
melite and zealous Protestant bishop of Ossory, thus writes of the destruc¬ 
tion of libraries at the hands of the first English Reformers: “To destroy all 
[books] without consyderacy on, is and wyll be unto Englande for euee (ever) 
a most horryble infamy among the grave senyours of other nacyons. A 
greate nombre of them whych purchased those superstycyouse mansions 
(monasteries), reserued of those bokes. some to serue their iakes, some to 
scoure their candelstyckes, and some to rubbe their bootes. Some they solde 
to the grossers and sope sellers and some they sent over see to the bokebyn- 
ders, not in small nombre, but at tymes whole shyppes full, to the wonder- 
inge of the foren nacyons. I know a merchaunt man that boughte the con- 
tentes of two noble lybraryes for xl (40) shvllynges pryce, a shame it is to 
be spoken. This stuffe hath he occupyed in the stede of graye paper by the 
space of more than these x (10) yeares, and he hath store ynough for as 
many yeares to come.” Dubl. Rev., July, 1882, pp. 257 and 258. For further 
details and proofs, see Butler’s Lives, May 26th, St. Augustine, note; also 
Maskell's Ancient Liturgy and Monumenta Ritualia. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


91 


FIFTH PERIOD. 

The Modern English Period. 

(From the Middle of Queen Elizabeth’s Reign, in 15S0, to the 

Present Time.) 

The Mistake of Attributing the Extraordinary Intellectual Devel¬ 
opment of this Period to the Protestant Reformation—-Real 
Causes of Human Progress and Literary Improvement in the 
Modern Period. Section the First , the Augustan Age : Robert 
Southwell—Edmund Spenser—Thomas Sackville—The Early 
Drama and Dramatists — William Shakespeare—Lord Bacon — 
Ben Jonson—Translationof the Bible—Annals of the Four Mas¬ 
ters—Other Writers. Section the Second: Richard Crashaw — 
Abraham Cowley—John Milton — Sa,muel Butler—John Bunyan 
—John Dry den—Other Writers. Section the Third: Joseph Ad¬ 
dison—Sir Richard Steele—Daniel Defoe—Alexander Pope — 
Jonathan •Swift—James Thomson—William Collins—Edward 
Young—Thomas Gray—Letters of Junius—Oliver Goldsmith — 
David Hume—Samuel Johnson—William Robertson—Edward 
Gibbon—Robert Burns—Edmund Burke — William Cowper — 
Other Writers. Section the Fourth: Percy Bysshe Shelley—John 
Keats—Lord Byron—Sir Walter Scott—Kovels and Novel Read¬ 
ing—George Crabbe—Samuel T. Coleridge—Robert Southey — 
Thomas Campbell—Sydney Smith—William Wordsworth—Lord 
Jeffrey—John Lingard—Thomas Moore—Henry Hallam—Lord 
Macaulay—William M. Thackeray—Frederick W. Faber — Car¬ 
dinal Wiseman—Charles Dickens — T. W. M. Marshall — 
Thomas Carlyle—Cardinal Newman—Cardinal Manning — 
Lord Tennyson — Thomas IF. Allies—Aubrey de Vere—John 
R uskin—Other Writers. 

THE MISTAKE OF ATTRIBUTING THE EXTRAORDINARY 
INTELLECTUAL DEVELOPMENT OF THIS PERIOD TO THE 
PROTESTANT REFORMATION. 

What we understand by the modern English period 
is all that interval of ti^ne which extends from the mid¬ 
dle of Queen Elizabeth’s reign to our own day. Doubt¬ 
less more books have been produced than at any pre¬ 
ceding period, elementary knowledge has spread more 


92 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


extensively among the masses, physical sciences have 
reached a wonderful development, criticism and philol¬ 
ogy have entered a new career, the novel and the news¬ 
paper have grown to be the daily food of the million. 
But is it right to conclude from these facts that the so- 
called Protestant Reformation originated this move¬ 
ment, and thus opened to mankind an era of unheard 
of progress in civilization and science ? * Or rather, was 
not the intellectual activity of Europe already aroused 
and even fairly started with a promise of great progress 
before the sixteenth century, and did not that activity 
receive from the religious and political commotion of 
the Reformation a sudden check, from which it has re¬ 
covered only to grow wild, and follow, to a great ex¬ 
tent, devious and deceitful ways ? We do not mean to 
enter here upon a full discussion of this vast subject, • 
but merely to throw in a few remarks, corroborated in 
most instances by Protestant authorities, concerning 
the actual influence of the Reformation upon the prin¬ 
cipal elements of human progress, as literature in gen¬ 
eral, fine arts, philosophy, social order, liberty both 
civil and religious; and then briefly state what we un¬ 
derstand to be the real causes of the wider spread of 
letters in modern times. 

1. Literature in General. —Erasmus, who was 
contemporary with the early reformers, and certainly no 
blind approver of the old state of things, gives his tes¬ 
timony that the Reformation was fatal to all wholesome 
intellectual progress, and he laments bitterly that 
wherever Lutheranism reigns, literature perishes. In 
one of his letters, speaking of the Evangelicals of his 
day, he tells us that to them is due the fact that polite 

The times which shine with the greatest splendor in literary history 

are not always those to which the human mind is most indebted.The 

first fruits which are reaped under a bad system often spring from seed 
sown under a good one.” Macaulay, Essay on Machiavelli. 






THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


93 


letters are neglected and forgotten: 44 languent, fugiunt, 
jacent, intereunt bonae litterae.”* * * § 44 The most striking 
effect,” says Ilallam, 44 of the first preaching of the Ref¬ 
ormation was that it appealed to the ignorant. . . . 
It is probable that both the principles of the great 
founder of the Reformation, and the natural tendency 
of so intense an application to theological controversy, 
checked, for a time, the progress of philological and 
philosophical literature on this side of the Alps.”f 
Thomas Arnold, in his work entitled Chaucer to 
Wordsworth, thus characterizes the English reformers: 
44 The official reformers, if one may so call them,— 
Henry VIII. and his agents, and the council of Ed¬ 
ward VI.,—did positive injury to education and litera¬ 
ture for the time, by the rapacity* which led them to 
destroy the monasteries for the sake of their lands. 
Many good monastic schools thus ceased to exist, and 
education throughout the country seems to have been at 
the lowest possible ebb about the middle of the cent¬ 
ury. The sincere reformers, who afterwards developed 
in the great Puritan party, were disposed to look upon 
human learning, as something useless, if not danger¬ 
ous ; upon art, as a profane waste of time ; and gener¬ 
ally upon all mental exertion which was not directed 
to the great business of securing one's salvation, as so 
much labor thrown away.” J In his History of English 
Literature , the same writer lays the charge in question 
upon the reformers generally, and Luther in particular, 
as being the originator of the fanatic movement against 
human learning.§ 44 By the regulations of the Star 
Chamber, in 1585, no press was allowed to be us ed out 


*Hallam’s Lit. of Europe, vol. i., p. 189. 

t Ibid., p. 192. 

% Pp. 52 and 53. 

§ Y. 106. 



94 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


of London, except one at Oxford and another at Cam¬ 
bridge. Thus every check was imposed on literature, 
and it seems unreasonable to dispute that they had some 
efficacy in restraining its progress. 7 ’ * 

2. Fine Arts. —The effect of the Reformation on 
the fine arts was pernicious, not only by the destruction . 
of existing specimens of architecture, sculpture, and 
painting; but by diverting art itself from its original 
and natural destination. The Reformation viewed as 
superstition the pomp of divine worship, as objects of 
idolatry the masterpieces of art. Its tendency was 
to degrade taste by repudiating its models; to introduce 
a dry, cold, captious formality, in lieu of the elevating, 
soul-inspiring service of the old Catholic cathedrals.j* 
“The Reformation' favorable to the fine arts!” ex¬ 
claims Archbishop Spalding, “ as well might you assert 
that a conflagration is beneficial to a city which it con¬ 
sumes. Wherever the Reformation appeared, it pil¬ 
laged, defaced, often burnt churches and monasteries; 
it broke up and destroyed statues and paintings, and it 
often burnt whole libraries.”{ In the British Parlia¬ 
ment during the Protectorate, s6 deep was the fanati¬ 
cism of the times, that “ serious propositions were made 
to paint all the churches black, in order to typify the 
gloom and corruption that reigned within them.” 

3. Philosophy.— A few remarks concerning the in¬ 
fluence of Protestantism on philosophy, are made neces¬ 
sary from the close relation in which that branch of learn¬ 
ing stands to literature. The vehicle through which the 

* Hallam’s Lit., pp. 413 and 414. 

t When Dean, afterwards Bishop, Berkeley offered an organ as a gift to 
the town of Berkeley in Massachusetts, the selectmen of the town were not 
prepared to harbor so dangerous a guest; and, voting that ‘ an organ is an 
instrument of the devil for the entrapping of men’s souls, they declined the 
offer.’—Duekinck’s Cyc., vol. i., p. 166. 

% History of the Reformation, vol. i., ch. 15. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


95 


results of philosophical investigation are conveyed to 
the people at large, is literature; and, reciprocally, the 
speculations of philosophy are modified by the ideas 
current in literature. What, then, have been the ef¬ 
fects of the Reformation on philosophy? 

The fundamental principle of the Reformation— 
private judgment or the rejection of authority in re¬ 
ligious matters—sweeps away all the mysteries of the 
Christian faith, since, being above human reason, they 
cannot be comprehended by human reason. Hence 
Rationalism must be substituted for Christianity, and 
a pagan literature must be ultimately the inevitable 
consequence. In. fact, those among Protestants who 
followed out their principle, were led to drive away God 
and the soul from their philosophy, and rush madly 
into the gross errors of materialism. To substantiate 
what we say, we need only recall the names of Lord 
Herbert of Cherbury, Hobbes, Blount, Toland, 
Shaftesbury, Woolston, and Bolingbroke. The French 
philosophism of the last century emanated from this 
school; and the French infidels, headed by Voltaire, 
were at first mere echoes of their English masters. It 
is also a fact worthy of notice that Voltaire, who cher¬ 
ished so intense a hatred of Christianity, has generally 
found great favor with Protestants. At times, indeed, 
reactionary movements have been set on foot to turn 
the tide of infidelity; but, as long as the principle re¬ 
mains, such movements will be failures. To-day the 
fatal doctrines continue to produce the self-same con¬ 
sequences in the sceptical, anti-Christian spirit that 
strives more and more to assert its supremacy, even in 
such quarters as the once so conservative University of 
Oxford. Darwin, Spencer, Tyndal, Huxley, Matthew 
Arnold, are the leading representatives of that spirit. 
The effects of such a philosophy upon literature have 


96 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


been to deprive it of the highest source of inspiration, 
the Christian spirit; to throw a cloud of doubts over 
the best-ascertained facts of history; and finally to 
replace Christian by pagan ideals and heroes. Such 
in fact, to a ‘great extent, is our contemporary litera¬ 
ture; such is it, at least, in its most popular form, the 
all-pervading novel. 

4. Social Order. —It cannot be denied, that peace 
and order, in the State, are among the essential condi¬ 
tions to the progress of civilization and the prosperity 
of literature. The best guarantee of peace and order, 
is found in a spirit of obedience on the part of the gov¬ 
erned, and a spirit of justice on the part of the govern¬ 
ment. Now Protestantism stands opposed to this 
twofold spirit. Its very origin was a protest, a revolt 
against the highest authority on earth; its essential 
principle, a sanction to arbitrary rule and despotism; 
and hence its effect was gradually to undermine the 
basis of social order. Germany, the cradle of Protes¬ 
tantism, was frightfully mutilated by the devastating 
scourge of religious wars. The ferment of revolt, ex¬ 
tending wherever the Reformation prevailed, was every¬ 
where a cause of commotion and strife. During two 
entire centuries, Sweden, Denmark, and Holland, were 
writhing with anarchy. France was reduced to the 
verge of ruin by the same religious dissensions. For 
two-thirds of the sixteenth century, England groaned 
under religious persecutions and the most brutal des¬ 
potism; and, during the greater part of the seventeenth, 
she was a prey to civil wars and the fanaticism of secta¬ 
rians. Hallam considers that the excitement of a rev¬ 
olutionary spirit was a consequence of the new doctrines, 
and adds: “A more immediate effect of overthrowing 
the ancient system was the growth of fanaticism, to 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


97 


which, in its worst shape, the Antinomian * extrava¬ 
gances of Luther yielded too great encouragement.”! 
“ A political and spiritual despotism such as that of 
Henry VIII. and of Cromwell, would have been impos¬ 
sible but for the Reformation.” J It is a startling 
fact, that, in every Protestant kingdom of continental 
Europe, absolute monarchy, in its most consolidated 
and despotic form, dates precisely from the period of 
the Reformation. 

5. Civil and Religious Liberty. —Those who look 
upon Protestantism as inseparable from public liberty, 
do not agree with Hallam and Guizot, neither of whom 
can be accused of any want of sympathy for the Refor¬ 
mation. According to the former, “ It is one of the 
fallacious views of the Reformation, to fancy that it 
sprung from any notions of political liberty, in such a 
sense as we attach to the word.”§ “ In Germany,” 

says the latter, “ far from demanding political liberty, 
the Reformation has accepted, I should not like to say 
political servitude, but the absence of liberty.” || 

With regard to religious liberty, let us hear Hal- 
lam again: “ The adherents of the Church of Rome 
have never failed to cast two reproaches on those who 
left them: one, that the reform was brought about by 
intemperate and calumnious abuse, by outrages of an 
excited populace, or by the tyranny of princes; the 
other, that after stimulating the most ignorant to re¬ 
ject the authority of the Church, it instantly withdrew 

* Antinomian ( avri , against, and vo/uofr law) signifies the error which de¬ 
nies the obligation of the moral law, under the Christian dispensation. 
Luther said that we might sin a thousand times a day and not mind it, pro¬ 
vided we had faith in Christ, i. e., faith that His merits are greater than our 
iniquities. 

t Lit. of Europe, vol. i., p. 187, Harper’s Edit. 

X Fred. Schlegel. 

I Lit. of Europe, vol. i., p. 187. 

|| Hist. Gen. de la Civil., Lect. 12. 

7 



98 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


this liberty of judgment, and devoted all who presumed 
to swerve from the line drawn by law, to virulent oblo¬ 
quy, or sometimes to bonds and death. These re¬ 
proaches, it may be a shame for us to own, ‘can be 
uttered and cannot be refuted/”* In what age or 
country has religious liberty ever been more systemat¬ 
ically, more steadily, and more thoroughly trampled 
upon, than it was in the case of Catholics in England, 
Ireland, and Scotland, from the time of Elizabeth to 
the Catholic Emancipation in 1829? In our own 
country, the early history of Virginia and Eew England 
is little more than a record of doctrinal disputations, 
the bitter fruits of religious intolerance. 

From the facts just enumerated, the following con¬ 
clusion forces itself upon us : that the Reformation was 
rather a retrograde than a progressive movement in 
the interests of civilization and science ; and that, if 
literature has developed so extensively in modern times, 
it is not in consequence , but in spite of the Reforma¬ 
tion. The various elements of modern progress, care¬ 
fully gathered together for centuries, had already pro¬ 
duced great results, and the impulse was given for still 
greater, when the Reformation entangled the human 
mind in wild controversies, and estranged it from the 
Church only to lead it back gradually to paganism. 
This false direction given to the mind, of which we see 
still the unhappy consequence, belongs to the Refor¬ 
mation ; whilst the life and brilliancy that characterize 
this epoch are due, as we shall show, to causes far dif¬ 
ferent. 


* Lit. of Europe, vol. i., p. 200. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


99 


REAL CAUSES OF HUMAN PROGRESS AND LITERARY 
IMPROVEMENT IN THE MODERN PERIOD. 

Among these causes, we place in the first rank the 
Catholic Church . She it was that saved the world 
from utter barbarism, when the hordes of the North 
were settling over the ruins of the old pagan civiliza¬ 
tion. She it was that converted and civilized, one after 
another, all the nations of Europe. It was her zeal for 
intellectual pursuits that led to the foundation of nu¬ 
merous schools, and those famous universities, which, 
for depth of teaching and the number of students, 
have never been equalled. When the new civilization 
was threatened by the fanaticism of Islam, it was her 
pontiffs that first sounded the alarm, and united in one 
common cause the rival claims of European princes. 
Indeed, from Urban II. to St. Pius V., and from St. 
Pius V. to Clement XI., the popes never relented their 
efforts till the Mahometan power was first crippled at 
Lepanto, and its aggressive spirit finally broken under 
the walls of Belgrade (1717). 

The Crusades not only repelled the enemy of civiliza¬ 
tion, but proved beneficial at home, by dissolving the 
feudal system, ridding Europe of many a petty despot, 
stimulating commerce, and eliciting a spirit of indus¬ 
try, enterprise, and invention. 

The decline of the feudal system and the abolition of 
slavery , by introducing a large body of men into the 
rank of citizens, contributed not a little to the general 
development of human resources. Under feudalism, 
the mass of the people, under the appellation of serfs, 
were bought and sold with the soil to which they were 
attached ; but now their condition was gradually im¬ 
proved by the influence of the Church, until the sys¬ 
tem disappeared altogether from European society. 


100 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


As regards slavery, “the spirit of the Christian re¬ 
ligion,” says Bancroft, “ would, before the discovery 
of America, have led to the entire abolition of the 
slave-trade, but for the hostility between the Christian 
Church and the followers of Mahomet. In the twelfth 
century, Pope Alexander III., true to the spirit of his 
office, . . . had written that ‘ Nature having made no 
slaves, all men have an equal right to liberty.’ It was 
the clergy that had broken up the Christian slave-mar¬ 
kets at Bristol and Hamburg, at Lyons and at Rome.”* 

Another important element of human progress, also 
the work of the Church, were the elevation of the female 
character , and the restoration of woman to her proper 
station in society. The Church, from the first, 
taught the barbarian to treat woman not as a slave, but 
a companion. The mother, whose duties in the train¬ 
ing of her children were so laborious and weighty, for¬ 
got her troubles in the joy of possessing the undivided 
affection of her spouse., She became the sovereign of the 
domestic circle, the ornament, and refiner of society. 

A more immediate cause of the progress of letters in 
Western Europe, must be traced to the advent in Italy 
and elsewhere, of many learned Greeks , together with 
the munificent patronage held out by the Houses of 
Medici, of Este, of Gonzaga, and especially by the 
Popes. Greek manuscripts were collected at great ex¬ 
pense, and buildings erected to preserve these treasures 
and the monuments of art that survived the ravages of 
the barbarians. As early as the middle of the fif¬ 
teenth century, the Vatican Library, enriched, if not 
founded, by Pope Nicholas V., possessed no fewer than 
5000 volumes, many of which were of the greatest 
value. This zeal for letters and the general revival 


* Hist, of the U. S., vol. i., pp. 163 and 165, 1st edition. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 101 

created a galaxy of geniuses in the golden age of Leo 
X., very properly styled the second Augustan age of 
Roman literature, when 

‘A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung.’ 

Elsewhere also, as in Spain, in Portugal, and in 
France, three countries where the Reformation did not 
succeed in implanting itself, there was a general out¬ 
burst of enthusiasm for letters, which, indeed, might 
have been fatal to Christian ideas but for the direct¬ 
ing hand of the Church. 

Finally, what contributed most of all to the develop¬ 
ment of literature in modern times, was that wonder¬ 
ful invention of the art of printing , the authors of 
which, according to the more common opinion of 
learned men, were Faust, Schceffer, and Gutenberg, at 
Metz, about the year 1440. Printing by hand was 
known long before, even as far back as the tenth cen¬ 
tury, but was of little advantage, owing to the slow¬ 
ness of the process and the scarcity of paper. The in¬ 
vention of the printing press, at a time when paper 
had become cheaper and more common, afforded un¬ 
precedented facilities for the prosecution of literary 
studies. Before the close of the fifteenth century, it 
is said that 10,000 editions of works, of which the 
classics formed a considerable number, were printed 
in Europe. Of these works, Italy had the honor 
of publishing nearly one-half; while a very small 
number, (not exceeding one hundred and fifty), were 
printed in England. Of the Yulgate, Hallam mentions 
ninety-one editions, and of Virgil, ninety-five. We 
find 291 editions of the writings of Cicero. These 
numbers, it must be remembered, relate not to single 
volumes ; but to whole editions of the works, varying 
from 225 to 550 copies, or more, for each edition. If 


102 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


we take the latter number as the basis of onr calcula¬ 
tion, and apply it to the works of Cicero alone, the 
result is that above* 160,000 copies of the writings of 
this elegant author were brought into circulation dur¬ 
ing the last quarter of the fifteenth century. 

In England, the example set by William Caxton, 
who first introduced the press there in 1477, was 
eagerly followed by others. Not only the classic works 
of Roman and Grecian genius, but the popular writings 
of modern Italy and France, were translated and 
widely circulated. Thus a taste for general reading 
and information was excited and fostered in all classes 
of society. The language itself soon felt the benefit of 
the new impulse, and was enriched by a great variety 
of words drawn from the ancient and modern tongues. 
Better models of thought and style were introduced; 
and the quaint untutored phraseology of our earliest 
authors, yielded to the more correct diction and pol¬ 
ished periods of subsequent writers. Yet this move¬ 
ment was considerably retarded by the religious com¬ 
motions of the kingdom, during the reigns of Henry 
VIII. and his two successors. When the nation had 
become more indifferent to the old worship, and the 
general quiet was left undisturbed by the patient en¬ 
durance of Catholics under a relentless and bloody 
persecution, then England was able to enjoy the golden 
age of her literature. 

For the sake of distinctness and convenience, we have 
subdivided this period into four sections. The first ex¬ 
tends from 1580 to 1642; the second from 1642 to the 
end of the seventeenth century; the third embraces the 
eighteenth century; the fourth reaches from the begin¬ 
ning of this century to our times. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


103 


Section the First, the Augustan Age, 1580-1642. 

The original works brought forth in the beginning of 
the Modern Period of English literature, have been 
aptly compared to the productions of a soil for the first 
time broken up, when all indigenous plants spring up 
at once with a rank and irrepressible fertility, and dis¬ 
play whatever is peculiar and excellent in their nature, 
on a scale the most conspicuous and magnificent. In 
point of force and originality of genius, the 60 years 
that elapsed from the middle of Elizabeth's reign to the 
civil war, may be considered as unsurpassed. “The 
writers of that period, especially the poets, treat their 
language as a plastic substance, which they are free to 
mould and work into the forms that best suit them.” * 
Happily the artists were great masters. We must admit, 
however, that the epoch was tainted by a straining after 
false wit, which exhibited itself in extravagant conceits, 
puns, and quibbles. This bad taste, which took the 
name of Euphuism ,f became so fashionable as to find 
its way even into the best writings of the age. 


Robert Southwell, 1560-1595. 

This charming Christian poet, who was a victim of 
religious persecution, was born at St. Faith's, Norfolk, 
in 1560, of an ancient and respectable Catholic family. 
His early years are represented as giving promise of 
future excellence. Obedience to his parents, docility 
to his instructors, and gentleness to all, won him every 
heart. He was sent at an early age to the English 


* Johnson and Browne’s Eng. Lit. 

+ E v<Pvt/s, of good figure. Euphues is the principal character in two fa¬ 
mous works of John Lyly (1554-1603), who deserves to be called the parent of 
Euphuism. 



104 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


college at Douay,* and thence to Rome, where he was 
enrolled among the children of St. Ignatius. In 1584, 
he was ordained priest. In 1586, he was, at his earnest 
request, sent as a missionary to his native country, and 
was made chaplain to the Countess of Arundel. Whilst 
in the faithful discharge of his sacred duties, he was 
apprehended by an agent of Queen Elizabeth, kept for 
three years in a loathsome prison, and, after being re¬ 
peatedly and barbarously tortured, was executed at Ty¬ 
burn, in 1595. “This whole proceeding,” says the 
Protestant C. D. Cleveland, “should cover the authors 
of it with everlasting infamy. There was not a par¬ 
ticle of evidence at his trial, that this pious and accom¬ 
plished poet meditated any evil designs against the 
government.”! Conscious of suffering in the best of 
causes, he met death with the heroism of a martyr. 
His writings, although composed in prison, exhibit no 
trace of angry feeling against any human being or any 
human institution. The constant themes of both his 
prose and verse are life’s uncertainty and the world’s 
vanity, the crimes and follies of humanity, the consola¬ 
tions and glories of religion. We have from his classic 
pen fifty-five beautiful poems. They were ver}^ popular 
in his time, as many as eleven editions having been 
published between 1593 and 1600. 

Ben Jonson has expressed his admiration of South- 
well, and praised the Burning Babe as a poem of great 
beauty. “ Southwell,” says Angus, “ shows in his poe¬ 
try great simplicity and elegance of thought, and still 
greater purity of language. He has been compared in 
some of his pieces to Goldsmith, and the comparison 
seems not unjust. There is in both the same natural- 

* The English college at Douay was founded in 1568 by Cardinal William 
Allen, for the twofold purpose of recruiting English missioners. and giving a 
Catholic education to young Catholic Englishmen. 

t Compendium of Eng. Lit., p. 89. 




TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


105 


ness of sentiment, the same propriety of expression, and 
the same ease and harmony of versification; while there 
is in him a force and compactness of thought, Avith oc¬ 
casional quaintness, not often found in the more mod¬ 
ern poet.”* But the prose of Southwell is not less 
charming than his poetry. The Triumph over Death , 
Avritten on the character of Lady Sackviile, and Mary 
Magdalen’s Funeral Tears , are among his best prose 
pieces. His beautiful lines on the death of Mary Queen 
of Scots, may not inaptly be applied to himself: 

Some things more perfect are in their decay, 

Like spark that going out gi\ r es clearest light; 

Such was my hap, Avhose doleful dying day 
Began my joy, and termed Fortune’s spite. 

Rue not my death, rejoice at my repose; 

It was no death so me, but to my woe: 

The bud was opened to let out the rose; 

The chains unloosed to let the captive go. 


DANGERS OF DELAY. 

Shun delays, they breed remorse; 

Use thy time while time is lent thee; 
Creeping snails make little course, 

Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee. 
Good is best Avlien soonest wrought, 
Lingering labors come to naught. 

Hoist up sail while gale doth last, 

Tide and wind stay no man’s pleasu 
Seek not time when time is past; 

Sober speed is wisdom’s leisure. 
After-wit is dearly bought, 

Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. 

Time wears all his locks before, 

Take thy hold or else beware, 

When he flies he turns no more, 

And behind his scalp is bare. 


* Handbook of Eng. Lit. 




106 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Works adjourned have many stays, 

Long demurs breed new delays. 

Seek the salve while sore is green, 

Festered wounds ask deeper lancing; 
After-cures are seldom seen, 

Often sought, but rarely chancing. 

Time and place give best advice, 

Out of season, out of price. 

Drops will pierce the stubborn flint, 

Not by force, but often falling; 

Custom kills by feeble dint, 

More by use than strength enthralling. 
Single sands have little weight, 

Many make a drowning freight. 

TIMES GO BY TURNS. 

The lopped tree in time may grow again, 

Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; 
The sorriest wight may find release of pain, 

The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: 
Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, 
From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. 

The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; 

She draws her favors to the lowest ebb: 

Her tides have equal times to come and go; 

Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: 
No joy so great but runneth to an end. 

No hap so hard but may in fine amend. 

Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring; 

Not endless night, yet not eternal day: 

The saddest birds a season find to sing; 

The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. 
Thus, with succeeding turns God temperetli all, 
That mail may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. 

A chance may win that by mischance was lost, 
That net that holds no great takes little fish; 

In some things all, in all things none are crossed; 
Few all they need, but none have all they wish. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


10 


Unmingled joys here to no man befall; 

Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. 

SCOllN NOT TIIE LEAST. 

Where words are weak, and foes encountering strong. 
Where mightier do assault than do defend, 

The feebler part puts up enforced wrong, 

And silent sees that speech could not amend; 

Yet higher powers most think, though they repine, 

When sun is set, the little stars will shine. 

While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly, 

And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fish; 

Yet pikes are caught when little fish go by, 

These fleet afloat, while those do fill the dish; 

There is a time even for the worms to creep, 

And suck the dew while all their foes do sleep. 

The merlin cannot ever soar on high, 

Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase; 

The tender lark will find a time to fly, 

And fearful hare to run a quiet race. 

He that high growth on cedars did bestow, 

Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow. 

In Hainan’s pomp poor Mardocheus wept, 

Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe; 

The Lazar pined, while Dives’ feast was kept, 

Yet he to heaven—to hell did Dives go. 

We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May; 

Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away. 


TIIE BURNING BABE. 

As I in hoary winter’s night 
Stood shivering in the snow, 
Surprised I was with sudden heat, 
Which made my heart to glow; 

And lifting up a fearful eye 
To view what fire was near, 

A pretty Babe, all burning bright, 
Did in the air appear; 


108 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Who, scorched with excessive heat, 

Such floods of tears did shed, 

As though his floods should quench his flames, 

Which with his tears were bred. 

“ Alas! ” quoth he, “ but newly born, 

In fiery heats I fry, 

Yet none approach to warm their hearts 
Or feel my fire, but I; 

My faultless breast the furnace is, 

The fuel, wounding thorns; 

Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, 

The ashes, shames and scorns; 

The fuel justice layeth on, 

And mercy blows the coals, 

The metal in this furnace wrought 
Are men’s defiled souls: 

For which, as now on fire I am, 

To work them to their good, 

So will I melt into a bath, 

To wash them in my blood.” 

With this he vanished out of sight, 

And swiftly shrunk away, 

And straight I called unto my mind 
That it was Christmas day. 

OPENING ADDRESS TO THE HOLY INNOCENTS. 

Joy, infant saints, cropped in the tender flower! 

Long is their life that die in blissful hour; 

Too long they live, that live till they be naught: 

Life saved by sin is purchase dearly bought. 

Your fate the pen of Angels should rehearse: 

Whom spotless, death in cradle rocked asleep; 

Sweet roses mixed with lilies strewed your hearse, 

Death virgin-white in martyr-red did steep. 

(From a dedication of some Poems.) 

Poets, by abusing their talents, and making the follies and 
feignings of love the customary subject of their base endeav- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


109 


ors, have so discredited this faculty, that a poet, a lover, and 
a liar, are by many reckoned but three words of one significa¬ 
tion. The devil, as he affectetli deity and seeketli to have all 
the compliments of divine honor applied to his service, so hath 
he, among the rest, possessed also most poets with idle fan¬ 
cies. And, because the best course to let them see the error 
of their works, is to weave a new web in their own loom, I have 
here laid a few coarse threads together, to invite some skil- 
fuller wits to go forward in the same, or to begin some finer 
piece, wherein it may be seen how well verse and virtue suit 
together. With many good wishes I send you these few dit¬ 
ties. 


Edmund Spenser, 1553-1599. 

Edmund Spenser, author of The Fairie Qtieene , and 
called by Campbell the Kubens of. English poetry, was 
born in London, in the year 1553. Of his parentage 
little is known. In 1569, he entered as a sizar at Pem¬ 
broke College, Cambridge. On leaving the University, 
he retired to the North of England, where he composed 
part of the Shepherd's Calendar , a pastoral, or rather 
a piece of polemical and party divinity, completed, in 
1579, in twelve eclogues, according to the twelve months of 
the year, and dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney. It was ad¬ 
mired in his time ; but it soon lost its popularity on account 
of the obsolete, uncouth phrases with which it abounds, 
and which Dryden termed the Chaucerisms of Spenser. 
His Mother Hubbard's Tale, a political satire, represents 
the middle age of Spenser’s genius, if not of his life; 
that stage of his mental and poetical progress, in which 
the higher sense of the beautiful had not yet been fully 
developed. In this poem, we still find both his puri- 
tanism and his imitation of Chaucer, two things which 
disappear altogether in his later poetry. The following 
well-known complaint of a court expectant, taken from 
this piece, probably describes too well the vicissitudes 
of his own life: 


110 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Full little knowest tliou that hast not tried, 

What hell it is in suing long to bide, 

To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow, 

To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow, 

To have thy prince’s grace, yet want his peers’; 

To have thy asking, yet wait many years; 

To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares, 

To eat tliy heart through comfortless despairs; 

To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, 

To spend, to give, to wait, to be undone. 

Other works of Spenser were : Muiopotmos; or, The Fate 
of the Butterfly (1590) ; The Ruins of Time (1591) ; Colin 
Clout's Come Home Again (1595); Amoretti; or, Sonnets 
(1595), eighty-three in number; Fpithalamion. This last 
poem, the most celebrated bridal ode in the English lan¬ 
guage, was composed on the occasion of Spenser’s own mar¬ 
riage, in 1594, and published the year after. 

His greatest poem, The Fairie Queene, was given to the 
world in detached portions, and at long intervals of 
time, the last three books appearing in 1596. It is an 
extended allegory, with images drawn from the popu¬ 
lar notions concerning fairies. The poet represents 
the Fairie Queen as holding her solemn annual feast 
during twelve days, on each of which a perilous advent¬ 
ure is undertaken by some particular knight, each of 
twelve knights typifying some moral virtue. The firs-t 
is the Knight of the Red Cross, representing Holiness: 
the second is Sir Guyon, or Temperance; the third, 
Britomartis, representing Chastity; the fourth, Cam- 
bel and Triamond, or Friendship; the fifth, Artegal, 
or Justice; the sixth. Sir Oalidore, or Courtesy. What 
the other six books would have been, we have no means 
of knowing; for the poet did not live to complete his 
original design. The Queen Gloriana is symbolical of 
Queen Elizabeth, and the adventures of the Red Cross 
Knights shadow forth the history of the Church of 
England. 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. Ill 

Spenser is considered tlie most luxuriant and melo¬ 
dious versifier in the English language. His creation 
of scenes and objects is wonderful; and in free and 
sonorous versification he has not yet been surpassed. 
The Spenserian stanza is the adoption of one of Chaucer’s 
stanzas,* with the addition of an Alexandrine line. His 
lofty rhyme has a swell and cadence and continuous sweet¬ 
ness that we can find nowhere else. “ Many of his words,” 
says Campbell, “ deserve reviving; and, though the forms 
are sometimes obsolete, the language is, as a whole, beauti¬ 
ful in its antiquity; and, like the moss and ivy in some 
majestic building, covers the fabric of the poem with 
romantic and venerable associations.” 

His faults arose out of the fulness of his riches. 
His inexhaustible powers of circumstantial description 
betrayed him into a tedious minuteness ; and, in the 
painting of natural objects, led him to group together 
trees and plants, and assemble sounds and instruments, 
which were never seen or heard in unison out of Fairie 
Land. The great length of the poem, its allegorical 
form,' added to the real and affected obsoleteness of the 
language, may indeed deter readers in general from a 
complete perusal; but it will always be resorted to by 
the genuine lovers of poetry, as a rich storehouse of 
invention. 

In 1597, Spenser laid before the Queen his View of 
the State of Ireland , in which he recommends some 
severe measures for the * Land of Ire/ and suggests 
that they should be blended with measures likely to 
conciliate popular favor. But the latter advice came 
too late. Tyrone’s rebellion broke out; the Castle 
of Kilcolman, the poet’s residence, was burnt, and an 


* This stanza of Chaucer is found in The Monk’s Tale and in La Prilre de 
Nostre Dame. See p. 72 of this hook, 



112 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


infant child of the poet, "newborn/ Ben Jonson says, 
was left behind and perished in the flames. Spenser 
died impoverished and broken-hearted, in the year 1599, 
and was buried near the tomb of Chaucer in Westmin¬ 
ster Abbey. 


THE CAVE OF MAMMON. 

(From The Fairie Queene , B. II., C. vii.) 

At length they came into a larger space 
That stretched itself into an ample plain, 

Through which a beaten broad highway did trace 
That straight did lead to Pluto’s grisly reign, 

By that way’s side there sat infernal pain, 

And fast beside him sat tumultuous strife. 

The one in hand an iron whip did strain, 

The other brandished a bloody knife, 

And both did gnash their teeth and both did threaten Life. 

Before the door sat self-consuming Care, 

Day and night keeping wary watch and ward, 

For fear lest Force or Fraud should unaware 
Break in, and spoil the treasure there in guard; 

Nor would he suffer Sleep once thitherward 
Approach, although his drowsy den were next, 

For next to death is sleep to be compared; 

Therefore his house is unto his annexed; 

Here Sleep, there Riches, and hell-gate them both betwixt. 
******* 

That house’s form within was rude and strong, 

Like a huge cave hewn out of rocky clift, 

From whose rough vault the ragged branches hung 
Embost with massy gold of glorious gift, 

And with rich metal loaded every rift, 

That heavy ruin they did seem to threat; 

And over them Aracline high did lift 
Her cunning web, and spread her subtle net, 

Enwrapped in foul smoke, and clouds more black than jet. 

Both roof and floor, and walls were all of gold, 

But overgrown with dust and old decay, 

And hid in darkness, that none could behold 
The hue thereof; for view of cheerful day 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


113 


Did never in that house itself display, 

But a faint shadow of uncertain light; 

Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away; 

Or as the moon, clothed with cloudy night, 

Does show to him that walks in fear and sad affright. 

In all that room was nothing to be seen, 

But huge great iron chests and coffers strong, 

All barred with double bands, that none could ween 
Them to enforce by violence or wrong; 

On every side they placed were along; 

But all the ground with skulls was scattered, 

And dead men’s bones, which round about were flung, 
Whose lives (it seemed) wliilome there were shed, 

And their vile carcasses now left unburied. 

They forward pass, nor Guyon yet spake word, 

Till that they came unto an iron door, 

Which to them open’d of its own accord, 

And showed of riches such exceeding store, • 

As eye of man did never see before, 

Nor ever could within one place be found, 

Though all the wealth which is, or was of yore, 

Could gathered be through all the world around, 

And that above were added to that under ground. 

THE CARE OF ANGELS OVER US. 

(From The Fairie Queene , B. II., C. viii.) 

And is there care in Heaven? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, 

That may compassion of their evils move? 

There is:—else much more wretched were the case 
Of men than beasts: but O! the exceeding grace 
Of highest God, that loves liis creatures so, 

And all his works with mercy doth embrace. 

That blessed angels he sends to and fro, 

To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! 

How oft do they their silver bowers leave 
To come to succor us that succor want! 

How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 
The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, 

8 


114 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Against foul fiends to aid us militant! 

They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, 

And their bright squadrons round about us plant; 

And all for love and nothing for reward: 

O, why should heavenly God to men have such regard? 


SWEET TEMPERED WITH SOUR. 

Sonnet XXVI. 

Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; * 
Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; 

Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketli near; 

Sweet is the firbloom, but his branches rough; 
Sweet is the Cyprus, but his rind is tough; 

Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; 

Sweet is the broom flower, but yet sour enough; 
And sweet is moly,f but his root is ill; 

So, every sweet with sour is tempered still; 

That maketh it be coveted the more: 

For easy things that may be got at will 
Most sorts of men do set but little store. 

Why then should I account of little pain 
That endless pleasure shall unto me gain? 

TRUE BEAUTY. 

Sonnet LXXIX. 

Men call you fair, and you do credit it, 

For that yourself you daily such do see; 

But the true fair, that is the gentle wit 
And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me. 
For all the rest, however fair it be, 

Shall turn to naught, and lose that glorious hue; 

But only that is permanent and free 

From all frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue. 

That is true beauty, that doth argue you 
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed; 

Derived from that fair spirit from whom all true 
And perfect beauty did at first proceed. 


* Brier. 


t A sort of wild garlic. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


115 


He only fair, and what he fair hath made; 

All other fair, like flowers untimely fade. 

DESCRIPTION OF A BUTTERFLY. 

(From The Fate of a Butterfly.) 

He the gay garden round about doth fly, 

From bed to bed, from one to other border, 

And takes survey, with curious, busy eye, 

Of every flower and herb there set in order; 

Now this, now that, be tastetli tenderly, 

Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder, 

Nor with his feet their silken leaves deface, 

But feeds upon the pleasures of each place, 

And evermore, with most variety 

And change of sweetness (for all change is sweet), 

He seeks his dainty sense to gratify; 

Now sucking of the juice of herbs most meet, 

Or of the dew which yet on them doth lie, 

Now in the same bathing his tender feet; 

And then he perclieth on some bank thereby 
To sun himself, and his moist wings to dry. 

Thomas Sackville, 1536-1608. 

Thomas Sackville, better known as Lord Buckhurst 
and Earl of Dorset, an eminent statesman and poet, 
was born in Sussex, in 1536. He studied first at the 
University of Oxford, and afterwards removed to Cam¬ 
bridge. At both universities, he was distinguished 
for his performances in Latin and English poetry. In 
the history of the language, his poetical genius entitles 
him to be considered as forming a connecting link be¬ 
tween Chaucer and Spenser, between The Canterbury 
Tales and The Fairle Queene. 

His tragedy of Gorboduc is a sanguinary story drawn 
from early British history, composed with considerable 
force of poetical conception and moral sentiment. It 
is full of illustrations of the present from the past. It 


116 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


discusses the blessings of peace and settled govern¬ 
ment, the folly of popular risings, and the evils of a 
doubtful succession. As a poet, Sackville handled the 
heroic verse with great success, and gave the first example 
of regular tragedy in blank verse. 

Of a poem entitled the Mirror for Magistrates , in¬ 
tended to give a view of the illustrious but unfortunate 
characters in English history, he finished only a poet¬ 
ical preface, or Induction , and one legend, the Life of 
the Duke of Buckingham. “ His Induction consists of 
a few hundred lines; and even in these, there is a 
monotony of gloom and sorrow which prevents us from 
wishing it to be longer. It is truly styled by Campbell 
a landscape on which the sun never shines.”* 

There hung on Sackville’s genius not only the gloom 
of despondency, but a ghastly complexion caught up 
from the lurid flames of religious persecution. He was 
one of the judicial tribunal that pronounced the doom 
of Mary Stuart; and the Parliament, after having con¬ 
firmed the sentence, commissioned him to bear the sad 
news to the unfortunate Queen. 

Sackville died suddenly at the council table, in April, 

1608. 


ALLEGORICAL PERSONAGES IN HELL. 

(From the Mirror for Magistrates.) 

And first within the porch and jaws of hell 
Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent 1 
With tears; and to herself oft would she tell 
Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent f 
To sob and sigh; but ever thus lament 
With thoughtful care, as she that all in vain 
Would wear and waste continually in pain. 


* Hallam’s Lit. of Europe, vol. i., p. 346. 
t Besprinkled. 

X Stopped. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


117 


Her eye unsteadfast, rolling here and there, 

Whirled on each place, as place that vengeance brought; 
So was her mind continually in fear, 

Tossed and tormented by the tedious thought 
Of those detested crimes which she had wrought: 

With dreadful cheer and looks thrown to the sky 
Wishing for death; and yet she could not die. 
***** 

And next within the entry of this lake 
Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire, 

Devising means how she may vengeance take, 

Never in rest till she have her-desire; 

But frets within so far forth with the fire 
Of wreaking flames, that now determines she 
To die by death, or venged by death to be. 

When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, 

Had shown herself as next in order set, 

With trembling limbs we softly parted thence, 

Till in our eyes another sight we met; 

When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet,* 

Ruing, alas! upon the woful plight 
Of Misery, that next appeared in sight. 

Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad,t 
With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued: 

In his right hand a naked sword he had, 

That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued; 

And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) 

Famine and fijre he held, and therewithal 
He razed towms and threw down towers and all; 

Cities he sacked, and realms (that whilom flowered 
In honor, glory, and rule, above the rest) 

He overwhelmed, and all their fame devoured, 
Consumed, destroyed, wasted, and never ceased, 

Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppressed: 

His face foreliewed with wounds; and by his side 
There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide. 


* Fetched. 


t Clothed. 



118 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


MIDNIGHT. 

Midnight was come, and every vital thing 

With sweet sound sleep their weary limbs did rest; 

The beasts were still, the little birds that sing, 

Now sweetly slept, beside their mother’s breast, 

The old and all well shrouded in their nest; 

The waters calm, the cruel seas did cease, 

The woods, and fields, and all things held their peace. 

The golden stars were whirled amid their race, 

And on the earth did laugh with twinkling light, 
When each thing nestled in his resting-place, 

Forgot day’s pain with pleasure of the night: 

The hare had not the greedy hounds in sight, 

The fearful deer of death stood not in doubt, 

The partridge dreamed not of the falcon’s foot. 

The ugly bear now minded not the stake, 

Nor how the cruel mastiffs do him tear; 

The stag lay still unroused from the brake; 

The foamy boar feared not the hunter’s spear: 

All things were still in desert, bush, and brere. 

“ The quiet heart, now from their travails rest,” 
Soundly they slept, in most of all their rest. 


THE EARLY DRAMA AND DRAMATISTS. 

A good drama is an interesting event represented by 
action and dialogue, in which each character is distinct, 
and true to itself and to nature. All nations liaVe 
probably amused themselves with oral or with scenic 
representations. The games of children abound in 
both. Every parable is a dramatic picture; and men 
of vivid imagination and of forcible utterance naturally 
describe and embellish their thoughts dramatically. It 
would appear that, at the dawn of modern civilization, 
most countries of Christian Europe possessed a rude kind 
of theatrical entertainment, not like the plays of ancient 
Greece and Rome; but representing the principal super- 
8 ' 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


119 


natural events of the Old and the New Testament, or 
of the history of the Saints, whence those dramas were 
denominated Mysteries , or Myracle Plays. Originally 
they appear to have been acted under the immediate 
management of the clergy, who deemed them favorable 
to the diffusion of religious feeling. 

Next to these came the Moralities , or Moral Plays, 
in which sentiments and abstract ideas are represented 
by persons. Thus, instead of the Jonathan and Satan 
of the Myracles, we meet with Friendship and Vice. 
These Moralities can be traced to about the middle of 
the fifteenth century: and they abounded in the reign 
of Henry VIII., when acting first became a distinct 
profession. 

The revival of learning, by making men familiar with 
the classic models of ancient Greece and Rome, did 
away with the Moralities. Plautus and Terence found 
an imitator in Nicholas Udall, who published, no later 
than 1551, his Ralph Roister Roister, the earliest known 
English comedy. It is written in rhyming lines of long 
and irregular measure. The scene is in London, and 
the characters, thirteen hi number, exhibit the manners 
of the middle orders of the peopJe of that day. 

Tragedy, of later origin than comedy, came directly 
from the more elevated portion of the moral plays, and 
from the pure models of antiquity. The oldest speci¬ 
men of this kind of composition is the tragedy of Gor- 
loduc, composed partly by Sackville, and played before 
Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, in 1561. It consists of 
five acts, follows the most useful of the classical rules, 
and bears this peculiar resemblance with the drama of 
antiquity, that it is attended with a chorus— i.e., a 
person or persons whose business it is to intersperse the 
play with moral observations and inferences, expressed 
in lyrical stanzas. We must not however conclude from 


120 BRITISH LITERATURE. 

this that the English drama was then, or has since 
been, principally classical. On the contrary it is ro¬ 
mantic, that is, founded on the mysteries of mediaeval 
times, and characterized by the neglect of the Unities. 
Not long after the appearance of Gorboduc, both trage¬ 
dies and comedies had become common; and, between 
the years 15G8 and 1580, no fewer than fifty-two dramas 
were acted at court, under the superintendence of the 
Master of the Revels. During the sixty years that fol¬ 
lowed, the richness and splendor of the drama outshone 
all other literary compositions, and reached an excel¬ 
lence that has never since been equalled. Were it not 
for the degrading licentiousness which pervades nearly 
all the plays of the period, they might have kept the 
stage; but ‘till civilized Christendom falls back into 
barbarous heathendom, their monstrous obscenities 
must forever be unendurable to human ears/* Hap¬ 
pily the greatest of English dramatists, although guilty 
too of that sin, is among the least offensive of them 
all. 


William Shakespeare, 1564^1616. 

William Shakespeare, the greatest of modern poets, 
nature’s oracle and interpreter, was born in 1564, at 
Stratford-on-Avon, a market-town in Warwickshire. 
Of his early life and education, almost as little is known 
as of Homer himself. He came to London in his 
twenty-second year, and connected himself with the 
stage, first as an actor, then as an author. Though not 
a classical scholar, he had probably read numerous 
translations of ancient works; the romances, tales, le¬ 
gends of the time; also, the histories and biographies 
then extant. He took his words from the common peo- 


Christopher North, in his Hour's Talk about Poetry. 





THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


121 


pic, from all classes in the busy scenes of life, and from 
the popular books of his day. “ The polite,” says Dr. 
Johnson, ‘‘ are always catching modish innovations, 
and the learned de£>art from established forms of speech 
in hope of finding or making better; those who wish 
for distinction, forsake the vulgar, when the vulgar is 
right; but there is a conversation above grossness and 
below refinement, where propriety resides, and where 
this poet seems to have gathered his comic dialogue, 
lie is, therefore, more agreeable to the ears of the pres¬ 
ent age than any other author equally remote; and, 
among his other excellencies, deserves to he studied as 
one of the original masters of our language.” 

His first play, Pericles , Prince of Tyre , written about 
1590, met with unexampled success. He continued to 
write until two years before his death, which occurred 
in his native place, in 1616. Of the forty-three dramatic 
pieces ascribed to him, seven are considered as spurious 
by English commentators; but German critics regard 
them as genuine. The remaining thirty-six may be 
divided into three classes: comedies, tragedies, and 
chronicle plays. 

Of the fourteen comedies, the plots of five: The Tam¬ 
ing of, the Shrew (in part), The Merchant of Venice, 
All's 'Well that Ends Well, Much Ado About Nothing, 
Measure for Measure, are Italian; two are classical— 
The Comedy of Errors and the Twelfth Night—taken 
from Plautus. Of the remaining seven, the plots of 
two— Midsummer Night's Dream, and As You Like It 
—are from mediaeval sources; that of The Two Gentle¬ 
men of Verona is Spanish; that of The Merry Wives of 
Windsor is English, and that of Love's Labor s Lost is 
apparently French; while those of The Winter's Tale 
and The Tempest are of unknown origin. 

Of the plots of Shakespeare’s twelve tragedies, five— 


122 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Timon of Athens, Pericles, Julius Ccesar, Antony and 
Cleopatra, and Coriolanus —are classical; two— Hamlet, 
and Troilus and Cressida —are mediaeval; two— Romeo 
and Juliet, and Othello —are Italian; and three— Cym- 
beline, Lear, and Macbeth —are from the legendary his¬ 
tory of Britain. For the material of his classical trag¬ 
edies, Shakespeare is supposed to have depended chiefly 
on North's translation of Plutarch's Lives. 

His chronicle plays are ten in number: King John, 
King Richard the Second, two of King Henry the Fourth, 
ICing Henry the Fifth, three of King Henry the Sixth, 
Richard the Third, and Henry the Eighth. These his¬ 
torical plays commence, in the chronological order, 
with King John, and end with Henry VIII., omitting, 
however, the reigns of Henry III., the four Edwards, 
and Henry VII. They are generally based on the facts 
of history, and exhibit so truthfully and clearly the 
principal features of the events, their causes, even 
their secret springs, that Coleridge deems them a better 
help to the knowledge of history for the periods over 
which they extend, than any other writings. The liv¬ 
ing pictures make an impression on the imagination 
which can never be effaced. It is generally admitted 
that the Chronicles of Holinshed and Hall both influ¬ 
enced the style of Shakespeare, and furnished him with 
biographical and historical facts, as well as with the 
groundwork of his tragedy of Macbeth. 

The latest productions of Shakespeare's genius are 
the finest. In Lear, Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, and 
The Tempest, all his wonderful faculties and acquire¬ 
ments are found combined. “Macbeth," in the opin* 
ion of Hallam, “is the greatest effort of his genius, the 
most sublime and impressive drama the world has ever 
beheld." The essence of his genius, according to Car¬ 
dinal Wiseman, consists in what constitutes the very 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 123 

soul of the dramatic idea, the power to throw himself 
into the situations, the circumstances, the nature, the 
acquired habits, the feelings true or fictitious of 
every character which he introduces, and the power to 
give outward life to the inward conception. “For a 
time he lives in the astute villain as in the innocent 
child; he works his entire power of thought into intri¬ 
cacies of the traitor’s brain; he makes his heart beat in 
concord with the usurer's sanguinary spite, and then, 
like some beautiful creature in the animal world, draws 
himself out of the hateful evil, and is himself again; 
and able even often to hold his own noble and gentle 
qualities as a mirror, or exhibit the loftiest, the most 
generous, and amiable examples of our nature. . . . 
This ubiquity, if we may so call it, of Shakespeare's 
sympathies constitutes the unlimited extent and might 
of his dramatic genius." “All the images of nature," 
says Dryden, “ were present to him, and he drew them 
not laboriously but luckily: when he describes any¬ 
thing, you more than see it—you feel it too. Those 
who accuse him of having wanted learning, give him 
the greater commendation—he was naturally learned, 
he needed not the spectacles of books to read nature; 
he looked inwards and found her there." 

The objections that lie against his writings, are that 
he is frequently ‘ flat and insipid, his comic wit degener¬ 
ating into clenches, his serious swelling into bombast; 
that he is so subtle as to become unintelligible;' that 
he often employs expressions not only vulgar and low, 
but licentious, and none the less censurable because 
common in his day. “ He is also open to the charge," 
says Schlegel, “ of too often placing before our eyes, in 
all its mystery and perplexity, the riddle of life, and 
leaving us like a sceptic without any hint of the solu¬ 
tion." 


124 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Of the heavenly and the supernatural—the spiritual 
in the highest sense—he says little. Perhaps the man 
felt more than the poet reveals. Perhaps he deemed 
the place not fit for such utterances. The religion of 
Shakespeare is not known. “ That he was a Chris¬ 
tian," says De Vere, “ no one who appreciates his poe¬ 
try can doubt; and it is as certain that his religious 
tone has no sympathy with the sect or the conventicle. 
It has been frequently remarked that in the whole se¬ 
ries of his historical plays, in which he so often deline¬ 
ates ecclesiastical persons, and treads on tender ground, 
he never is betrayed into a sneer, or drops a hint in 
sanction of that polemical tradition which grew in the 
courts of Elizabeth and James the First, and which 
nearly to our own time, has indirectly transmitted it¬ 
self through English literature." “ There is," says 
Reed, “an impressive contrast between the spirit with 
which Milton and Shakespeare have treated the most 
sacred subjects. A reverential temper, less looked for 
in the dramatic bard, marks every passage in which 
allusion is made to such subjects—a feeling of pro¬ 
found reverential reserve; and as this may not have 
been generally observed, let me group some brief and 
characteristic passages together. There is a beau¬ 
tiful allusion to Christmas in Hamlet: 

Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, 

This bird of dawning singetli all nightlong: 

And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; 

The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, 

No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, 

So hallowed and so gracious is the time! 

The mention, in Henry the Fourth, of the Holy 
Land: 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


125 


Those holy fields 

Over whose acres walked those blessed feet, 

Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nailed 
For our advantage on the bitter cross. 

The allusion to the scheme of Redemption and to 
the Lord’s Prayer in Portia’s plea for mercy: 

Though justice be thy plea, consider this— 

That in the course of justice none of us 
Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy; 

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy.” 

Shakespeare wrote also 154 Sonnets and a few other 
Poems; but these works are condemned for their sen¬ 
sualism. “Notwithstanding the frequent beauties of 
these Sonnets” says Hallam, “it is impossible not to 
wish that Shakespeare had not written them.” The 
Plays, as edited for schools by Hudson or by Kellogg, 
are judiciously purged of objectionable passages. 

Shakespeare died at Stratford on the anniversary of 
his birthday, April 23d, 1616; and was interred on the 
second day after his death, in the chancel of Strat¬ 
ford church, where a monument still remains to his 
memory. 


clarence’s dream. 

(From Richard III., Act. I., Scene IV.) 

Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? 

Clarence. O, I have passed a miserable night, 

So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, 

That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 

I would, not spend another such a night 
Though ’twere to buy a worl^ of happy days; 

So full of dismal terror was the time. 

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me. 

Clar. Metliought that I had broken from the Tower, 

And was embarked to cross to Burgundy, 

And in my company my brother Cluster, 


126 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 

Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England, 

And cited up a thousand heavy times, 

During the wars of York and Lancaster, 

That had befallen us. As we paced along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 

Metliought that G-loster stumbled; and in falling 
Struck me, that sought to stay him, overboard 
Into the tumbling billows of the main. 

O Lord, metliought what pain it was to drown! 

What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! 

What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! 

Metliought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 

A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon, 

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 

All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 

Some lay in dead men’s skulls; and in those holes, 
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, 

As ’tweft) in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, 

That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, 

And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by f 
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death 
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ? 

Clar. Metliought I had; and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood 
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To find the empty, vast, and wandering air, 

But smothered it within my panting bulk, 

Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 

Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony ? 

Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life. 

O, then began the tempest of my soul. 

I passed, metliought, the melancholy flood, 

With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 

Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 

The first that there did greet my^tranger soul 
Was my great fatlier-in-law, renowned Warwick, 

Who cried aloud—“ What scourge for perjury 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? ” 

And so he vanished. Then came wandering by 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


127 


A shadow * like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud— 

“ Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, 

That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury; 

Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments I” 

With that, methouglit, a legion of foul fiends 
Environed me, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise 
I, trembling, waked; and for a season after 
Could not believe but that I was in hell: 

Such terrible impression made my dream. 

Brcilc. No marvel, lord, that it rfffriglited you; 

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 

Clar. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things 
That now give evidence against my soul, 

For Edward’s sake; and see how he requites me! 

O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 

But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, 

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: 

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!— 

I prithee, Brakenbury, stay by me; 

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 

PRINCE ARTHUR AND HUBERT. 

(From King John , Act IV., Scene I.) 

Enter Hubert and Two Attendants. 

Hub. neat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand 
Within the arras; when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth; 

And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 

Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. 

1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. 

Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look to’t.— 

[Exeunt Attendants . 

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. 

Enter Arthur. 

Artk. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow, little Prince. 

Artli. As little prince (having so great a title 


Prince Edward, the son of Henry VI. 



128 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


To be more prince), as may be.—You are sad. 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on mel 

Methinks, nobody should be sad but I. . . . 

So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 

I should be as merry as the day is long; 

And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle practices more harm to me; 

He is afraid of me, and I of him: 

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey’s son! 

No indeed, is’t not; and I would to heaven, 

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: 

Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. [Aside.) 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day: 

In sooth, 1 would you were a little sick: 

That I might sit all night, and watch with you. 

I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.— 

Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now fool¬ 
ish rlieum! (Aside.) 

Turning dispiteous torture out of door! 

I must be brief; lest resolution drop 

Out at my eyes, in tender womanish tears.— 

Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you? 

11 ub - And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, 

I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 

(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 

And I did never ask it you again: 

And with my hand at midnight held your head; 

And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 

Still and anon cheered up the heavy time; 

Saying, What lack you? and, where lies your grief? 

Or what good love may I perform for you? 

Many a poor man’s son would have lain still, 

And ne’er have spoke a loving word to you; 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


129 


But you at your sick service had a prince. 

Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, 

And call it, cunning; do an if you will: 

If heaven he pleased that you must use me ill, 

Why, then you must.—Will you put out mine eyes? 

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 

So much as frown on you? 

Hub. I have sworn to do it; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! 

The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 

Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 

And quench his fiery indignation, 

Even in the matter of mine innocence. 

Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 

But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 

Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron? 

And if an angel should have come to me, 

And told me, Hulert should put out mine eyes, 

I would not have believed no tongue, but Hubert’s. 

Hub. Come forth. (Stamps.) 

Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, etc. 

Do as I bid you do. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, 

Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, 1 say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough? 

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 

For heaven’s sake, Hubert, let me not be bound; 

Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, 

And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; 

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 

Nor look upon the iron angerly; 

Thrust but these men away, and I’ll forgive you 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. 

1 Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend: 

He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart;—' 

9 


130 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes 

Arth. O heaven!—that there were but a mote in yours, 

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 

Any annoyance in that precious sense! 

Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, 

Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: 

Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! 

Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 

So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes; 

Though to no use, but still to look on you! 

Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 

And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, 
Being create for comfort, to be used 
In undeserved extremes: see else yourself; 

There is no malice in this burning coal; 

The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 

And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 

And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: 

Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; 

And, like a dog that is compelled to fight, 

Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 

All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 

Deny your office: only you do lack 

That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extend, 

Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes: 

Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 

With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now you look like.Hubert! all this while 
You were disguised. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


131 


Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu; 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead: 

I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 

And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 

That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 

Will not offend thee. 

Arth. O heaven!—I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me; 

Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 

MERCY. 

(From The Merchant of Venice , Act IV., Scene I.) 

The quality of mercy is not strained; 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed; 

It blessetli him that gives, and him that takes. 

’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown: 

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. 

But mercy is above the sceptred sway; 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings; 

It is an attribute to God himself; 

And earthly power doth then show likest God’s 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 

Though justice be thy plea, consider this— 

That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; 

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. 


THE COMMONWEALTH OF BEES. 

(From Henry V., Act I., Scene II.) 

They have a king, and officers of sorts: 

Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, 
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; 
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 

Make boot upon the summer’s velvet buds; 

Wliieh pillage they with merry march bring home 


132 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


To the tent-royal of tlieir emperor, 

Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons building roofs of gold; 

The civil citizens kneading up the honey; 

The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; 

The sad-eyed justice, with his surly 1mm 
Delivering o’er to executioners pale 
The lazy yawning drone. 

FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. 

(From Henry VIII., Act III., Scene II.) 

Cardinal Wolsey, after his fall from the favor of Henry VIII., 
thus soliloquizes, and afterwards confers with his servant 
Cromwell: 

Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! 

This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, 

And bears his blushing honors thick upon him: 

The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost; 

And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening,—nips his root, 

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 

This many summers in a sea of glory; 

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me; and now has left me, 

Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 

Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; 

I feel my heart new-opened: O, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favors! 

There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 

More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 

Never to hope again.— 

Enter Cromwell amazedly. 

Why, how now, Cromwell ? 

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


133 


Wol. What, amazed 

At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder 
A great man should decline ? Nay, and you weep, 

I am fallen indeed. 

Crom. How does your grace? 

Wol. Why, well; 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 

I know myself now; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, 

I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, 

These mined pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, too much honor: 

O ’tis a burden, Cromwell, ’tis a burden, 

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 

Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of it. 

Wol. I hope I have; I am able now, methinks, 

(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) 

To endure more miseries, and greater far, 

Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 

What news abroad? 

Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, 

Is your displeasure with the king. 

Wol. God bless him! 

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord Chancellor in your place. 

Wol. That’s somewhat sudden: 

But lie’s a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness’s favor, and do justice 
For truth’s sake, and his conscience; that his bones, 

When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 

May have a tomb of orphans’ tears wept on ’em! * 

What more? 

Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, 
Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. That’s news indeed. . . . 


Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; 
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master. Seek the king; 


* The chancellor is the general guardian of orphans. 




134 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


That sun I pray may never set! I have told him 
What, and how true thou art; he will advance thee; 
Some little memory of me will stir him, 

(I know his noble nature,) not to let 

Thy hopeful service perish too.. Good Cromwell, 

Neglect him not, make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord, 

Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master ? 

Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 

With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. 

The king shall have my service; but my prayers 
Forever, and forever, shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me 
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 

Let’s dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; 
And,—when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of,—say, I taught thee; 

Say, Wolsey,—that once trod the ways of glory, 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,— 

Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; 

A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 

Mark but my fall, and that that ruined mo. 

Cromwell, I charge thee; fling away ambition; 

By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by’t ? 

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: 

Let all the ends thou aimest at be thy country’s, 

Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, 6 Cromwell, 
Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. Serve thy king; 

And,-Pr’ythee, lead me in: 

There take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny; ’tis the king’s; my robe, 

And my integrity to heaven, is all 
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


135 


I served my king, lie would not now in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Groin. Good sir, have patience. 

So I have. Farewell, 

The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. 


wolsey’s vices and virtues. 

(From Henry VIII., Act IV., Scene II.) 

Queen Katharine. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on 
him! 

Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 

And yet with charity.—He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach,* ever ranking 
Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion, 

Tithed all the kingdom: simony was fair play; 

His own opinion was his law: i’ the presence! 

He would say untruths; and be ever double, 

Both in his w ords and meaning. He was never, 

But where he meant to ruin, pitiful; 

His promises were, as he w’as then, mighty; 

But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 

Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Griffith. Noble madam, 

Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your highness 
To hear me speak his good now? 

Katharine. Yes, good Griffith; 

I were malicious else. 

Griffith. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was fashioned to much honor from his cradle. 

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; 

Exceeding w r ise, fair spoken, and persuading; 

Lofty and sour to them that loved him not; 

But to those men that sought him sweet as summer, 

And though he w r ere unsatisfied in getting, 


* Pride. 


t Of the king. 




136 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


(Which was sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, 

He was most princely: ever witness for him 
Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, 
Ipswich and Oxford! one of them/ell with him,* 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; 

The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, 

So excellent in art, and still so rising, 

That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 

His overthrow heaped happiness upon him; 

For then and not till then he felt himself, 

And found the blessedness of being little: 

And to add greater honor to his age 

Than man could give him, he died, fearing God. 


Francis Bacon, 1561-1626. 

Francis Bacon, Lord High Chancellor of England, 
termed by many the parent of experimental ph ilosophy , 
was born in London, in 1561. From his early boy¬ 
hood he showed great vivacity of mind, and gave in¬ 
dications of his future eminence. When only nineteen 
years old, he wrote a work entitled Of the State of 
Europe , in which he displayed astonishing maturity of 
judgment. To an active, comprehensive, and pene¬ 
trating genius, he added application to study and the 
freqnentation of the learned men of his age. His char¬ 
acter unfortunately was not in keeping with his literary 
merit. Having been accused by Parliament of venality 
and corruption, he fully confessed to the committee 
of investigation the crimes laid to his charge, and be¬ 
sought them not ‘to press upon a broken reed/ He 
was fined £40,000, imprisoned in the Tower, and de¬ 
clared incapable of holding any office or employment 
in the state. However, he was soon released by King 
James, and obtained the entire revocation of his sen¬ 
tence. 


* Ipswich. 





THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


137 


The following are the most important works of this 
remarkable man : 

I. Essays , or Counsels Civil and Moral , the best 
known and most popular of his productions. The 
Essays are fifty-eight in number, besides a fragment. 
Burke preferred them to Bacon’s other writings. ‘ ‘ The 
small volume of Essays may be read from beginning to 
end in a few hours ; and yet after the twentieth peru¬ 
sal, one seldom fails to remark in it something over¬ 
looked before.”* The style is elaborate, sententious, 
often metaphorical, and possesses a degree of concise¬ 
ness rarely found in the compositions of the Eliza¬ 
bethan age. 

II. History of the Reign of Henry VII. This is a 
reliable and well-executed work, which alone would 
have illustrated the name of Bacon, had not liis other 
writings reached a higher degree of splendor. 

III. The treatise De Sapientid Veterum, in which he 
shows his knowledge of antiquity, and explains the an¬ 
cient fables by ingenious allegories. 

IV. Elements of the Lazes of England, in two parts. 
1. A collection of the principal rules and maxims of 
the common law with their latitude and extent. 2. 
The use of the law for the preservation of our persons, 
goods, and good names. 

V. De Augmezitis Scientiarum. This work, in which 
his English treatise on the Advancement of Learning is 
embodied, gives a general summary of human knowl¬ 
edge, taking special notice of gaps and imperfections 
in science. 

VI. Novum, Organum, or New Instrument or Method 
of studying the sciences. This work explains the in¬ 
ductive method of reasoning, and dwells on the neces- 


* Dugald Stewart. 




138 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


sity of experiments in the study of natural sciences. 
From these the appellation of Baconian method came 
to he used for the method of induction. 

The De Augmentis and the Novum Organum form 
the first two parts of a vast philosophical system, in 
six divisions, entitled fnstauratio Magna (The Great 
Reform of sciences) ; of the four other parts we have 
only some detached fragments. 

The most opposite appreciations have been given of 
Lord Bacon and his philosophical works. Whilst 
many writers, like Hallam, Dugald Stewart, Diderot, 
D’Alembert, and in general the impugners of the 
scholastic philosophy, have professed unbounded ad¬ 
miration for his genius ; others, among whom we may 
quote De Maistre, Rohrbacher, and Cantu, have stren¬ 
uously maintained that his works swarm with errors ; 
that the method of induction, falsely called Baconian, 
far from being new, was pointecf out by Aristotle him¬ 
self, and applied extensively by Roger Bacon, Coperni¬ 
cus, Galileo, and many other modern philosophers, be¬ 
fore Francis Bacon ; and, finally, that his real merit lies 
principally in the poetical beauties with which he has 
illustrated the driest subjects. We think that Bacon 
has been too much praised and too much blamed. He 
had the actual merit of urging the practice of the in¬ 
ductive method in physical sciences. True it is that 
the method was well known before Bacon ; but, in 
point of fact, it was too often neglected. The great 
fault with Bacon, is to imply everywhere as a principle, 
that man knows nothing except through experience and 
observation. This principle was afterwards followed 
up to its last consequences, and eventually led its de¬ 
fenders to materialism and atheism. As to Bacon 
himself, fond as he was of experiments, he made 
and multiplied them to little profit, and left no im- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


139 


portant contribution to any single branch of physical 
science. 

He died, in 1626, of a fever contracted while making 
an experiment. He was buried at St. Albans. A great 
poet has styled him: 

■ The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind.’— Pope. 

OF TRUTH. 

Essay I. 

.... It will be acknowledged, even by those that prac¬ 
tise it not, that clear and round dealing is the honor of man’s 
nature, and that mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of 
gold and silver, which make the metal work the better, but it 
embaseth it. For these winding and crooked courses are the 
goings of the serpent, which goetli basely upon the belly and 
not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so cover a man 
with shame, as to be found false and perfidious; and therefore 
Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason why the 
word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an odious 
charge: saith he, ‘‘If it be well weighted, to say that a man 
lieth, is as much as to say that he is brave towards God and a 
coward towards men. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from 
man.’ ’ 


OF ADVERSITY. 

Essay V. 

The vertue of Prosperity is Temperance, the Vertue of Ad¬ 
versity is Fortitude, which in Morals is the more Heroical ver¬ 
tue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament; Adversity 
is the Blessing of the New; which carrieth the greater Bene¬ 
diction, and the Clearer Revelation of God’s Favor. Yet even 
in the Old Testament, if you listen to David’s liarpe, you shall 
heave as many Herse-like ayres as Carols; and the Pencil of the 
Holy Ghost hath laboured more in describing the Afflictions of 
Job than the Felicities of Solomon. Prosperity is not without 
many Feares and Distastes; and Adversity is not without Com¬ 
forts and Hopes. We see in Needle-workes and Imbroideries, 
it is more pleasing to have a Lively Worke upon a Sad and 
Solemn Ground, than to have a Darke and Melancholy Worke 
upon a Lightsome Ground: judge, therefore, of the Pleasure 


140 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


of the Heart by the Pleasure of the Eye. Certainly vertue 
is like pretious Odours, most fragrant when they are incensed 
or crushed: For Prosperity doth best discover Vice, but Ad¬ 
versity doth best discover Vertue. 

OF STUDIES. 

Essay L. 

Studies serve for Delight, for Ornament, and for Ability. 
Their Chiefe Use for Delight is in Privateness and Retiring; for 
Ornament, is in Discourse; and for Ability, is in the Judgment 
and Disposition of Business. For Expert Men can Execute, 
and perhaps Judge of Particulars, one by one; but the general 
counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affaires, come best 
from those that are Learned. To spend too much time in 
Studies is Sloth; to use them too much for ornament is Affecta¬ 
tion; to make Judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of 
a scholler. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experi¬ 
ence; for naturall abilities are like naturall plants that need 
proyning by study; and studies themselves doe give forth direc¬ 
tions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experi¬ 
ence. Crafty men contemne studies; simple men admire them; 
and wise men use them; for they teaclie not their owne use, 
but that is a wisdome without them and above them, won by 
observation. Reade not to contradict and confute; nor to be- 
leeve and take for granted; nor to find talke and discourse; but 
to weigh and consider. Some bookes are to be tasted, others 
to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; 
that is, some bookes are to be read onely in parts; others to be 
read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and 
with diligence and attention. Some bookes also may be read 
by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that 
would be onely in the lesse important arguments, and the 
meaner sort of bookes; else distilled bookes are like common 
distilled waters, flashing things. Reading maketh a full man; 
Conference a ready man; and Writing an exact man. And 
therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great 
memory; if he conferre little, he had need have a present wit; 
and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to seeme 
to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets 
witty; tli e mathematicks subtle; natural philosophy deep; moral 
grave; logick and rhetorick able to control. Abeunt studia in 
mores. . . . 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


141 


Ben Jonson, 1574-1637. 

Ben Jonson, the contemporary and friend of Shake¬ 
speare, was born in 1574, at Westminster. After serv¬ 
ing in Flanders as a common soldier, with great credit 
for bravery, we find him, at the age of twenty, settled 
as an actor in London. In this calling he did not suc¬ 
ceed; and, in 1596, he produced his first comedy, Every 
Man in His Humor , which is still considered a standard 
piece. From this period he seems to have produced a 
play annually for several years, besides writing occa¬ 
sionally masques and interludes for the entertainment 
of the Court. He holds the second place among the 
dramatic authors of this period, although Beaumont 
and Fletcher as regards imagery and wit, and Massinger 
as regards grace and dignity of sentiment, rank before 
him. In many of the qualities of a dramatist, Jonson 
excels; but he is often hard, ungenial, pedantic, wear¬ 
ing too frequently what Milton calls ‘his learned sock/ 
His comedies and tragedies are sixteen in number; and 
his masques and other Court entertainments, thirty-five. 
Besides these, he wrote a book entitled Timber; or, 
Discoveries made upon Men and Matter, It is chiefly a 
collection of moral remarks and criticisms, unconnected, 
judicious, witty, and often severe. The English Gram¬ 
mar which is extant under his name, is but part of a 
work which he wrote on that subject. It shows an ac¬ 
curate acquaintance with the principles of our speech. 
It is one of the earliest of our grammars, as the Timber 
is one of the earliest specimens of literary criticism. 

His best dramas are his Alchymist, Epicene, and Vol- 
pone or the Fox, which, besides being considered admir¬ 
able as to plot and development, exhibit traits of pun- 


142 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


gent humor, strong conception, and powerful discrimi¬ 
nation. 

His tragedies of Sejanus and Catiline are too learned 
and declamatory, either for the closet or the stage; and 
a great portion of his comedy is low, forced, unnatural, 
and repulsive. His characters, when compared with 
those of Shakespeare, are what sculpture is to actual 
life. “His plays,” says Angus, “rather tend to bring 
into contempt the religious earnestness and scriptural 
tastes, which then distinguished a large portion of the 
public.” 

He died in poverty, and was called to the f dread ac¬ 
count 9 in 1637, regretting the occasional irreverences 
of his pen, and deploring the frequent abuse of powers 
which were given for nobler ends. He was buried in 
Westminster Abbey, and on his tombstone were in¬ 
scribed these words only, ‘0 rare Ben Jenson!* 

ADVICE TO A RECKLESS YOUTH. 

Learn to be wise, and practice how to thrive, 

That would I have you do: and not to spend 
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy, 

Or every foolish brain that humors you. 

I would not have you to invade each place, 

Nor thrust yourself on all societies, 

Till men’s affections, or your own desert, 

Should worthily invite you to your rank. 

He that is so respectless in his courses, 

Oft sells his reputation at cheap market. 

Nor would I you should melt away yourself 
In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect 
To make a blaze of gentry to the world, 

A little puff of scorn extinguish it, 

And you be left like an unsavory snuff, 

Whose property is only to offend. 

I’d have you sober, and contain yourself; 

Nor that your sail be bigger than ycur boat; 

But moderate your expenses now (at first) 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


143 


As you may keep the same proportion still, 

Nor stand so much on your gentility. 

Which is an airy, and mere borrowed thing, 

From dead men’s dust, and bones; and none of yours, 
Except you make, or hold it. 


TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKES¬ 
PEARE. 

.Soul of the age, 

The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! 

My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by 
Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 

A little further off, to make thee room: 

Thou art a monument without a tomb, 

And art alive still, while thy book doth live, 

And we have wits to read and praise to give. .... 

And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, 

From thence to honor thee I will not seek 
For names: but call forth thundering Eschylus, 

Euripides, and Sophocles, to us. 

Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, 

To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 

He was not of an age, but for all time! 

And all the muses still were in their prime 
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 
Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm. 

Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were 
To see thee in our water yet appear, 

And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, 

That did so take Eliza and our Janies. 

THE GOOD LIFE, LONG LIFE. 

It is not growing like a tree 
In liulk doth make man better be; 

Or standing long an oak three hundred year, 

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. 



144 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 

Although it fall and die that night; 

It was the plant and flower of light. 

In small proportions we just beauties see, 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 


HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. 

Hear me, O God! 

A broken heart 
Is my best part: 

Use still thy rod, 

That I may prove 
Therein Thy love. 

If thou liadst not 
Been stern to me, 

But left me free, 

I had forgot 
Myself and Thee. 

For sin’s so sweet, 

As minds ill bent 
Rarely repent, 

Until they meet 
Their punishment. 

HYMN TO THE MOON. 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 
Now the sun is laid to sleep, 

Seated in thy silver chair, 

State in wonted manner keep: 
Hesperus entreats thy light, 

Goddess, excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade, 

Dare itself to interpose; 

Cynthia’s shining orb was made 
Heaven to clear, when day did close: 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess, excellently bright. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH TERIOD. 


145 


Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal shining quiver; 

Give unto the flying heart 

Space to breathe, how short soever; 
Thou that mak’st a day of night, 
Goddess, excellently bright. 


DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING WELL.* 

(From The Timber.) 

For a man to write well, there are required three necessa¬ 
ries; to read the best authors; observe the best speakers; and 
much exercise of his own style. In style, to consider wliafc 
ought to be written, and after what manner; he must first 
think, and excogitate his matter; then choose his words, and. 
examine the weight of either. Then take care in placing and 
ranking both matter and words, that the composition be 
comely; and to do this with diligence and often. !No matter 
how slow the style be at first, so it be labored and accurate; 
seek the best, and be not glad of the fcrwaid conceits, or 
first words that offer themselves to us, but judge of what we 
invent, and order what we approve. Repeat often what wo 
have formerly written; which, besides that it helps the conse¬ 
quence, and makes the juncture better, quickens the heat of 
imagination, that often cools in the time of sitting down, and 
gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back. 
As we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest 
that fetch their race largest; or, as in throwing a dart or jave¬ 
lin, we force back our arms, to make our loose the stronger. 
Yet, if we have a fair gale of wind, I forbid not the steering 
out of our sail, so the favor of the gale deceive us not. For 
all that we invent doth please us in the conception or birth; 
else we, would never set it down. But the safest is to return 
to our judgment, and handle over again those things, the easi¬ 
ness of which might make them justly suspected. So did the 
best writers in their beginnings. They imposed upon tliem- 


* “ Ben Jonson’s directions for writing well should be indelibly impressed 
upon the mind of every student.”— Drake's Essays. 

40 



146 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


selves care and industry. They did nothing rashly. They ob¬ 
tained first to write well, and then custom made it easy and a 
habit. By little and little, their matter showed itself to them 
more plentifully; their words answered, their composition fol¬ 
lowed; and all, as in a well-ordered family, presented itself in 
the place. So that the sum of all is, ready writing makes not 
good writing; but good writing brings on ready writing. 

TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. 

It was during the first part of the Modern Period 
that the two most celebrated English versions of the 
Bible were published, the Douay Bible , and King 
James’s Version , generally known as The Authorized 
Version. Sir Thomas More testifies, that, long before 
the days of Wycliffe, there was an English version of 
the Scriptures, ( by good and godly people with devo¬ 
tion and soberness well and reverently red/ The many 
translations made by Protestants to support their 
errors, rendered a new version for the use of Catholics 
necessary. The care of preparing it was intrusted to 
Cardinal Allen, who called to his assistance Gregory 
Martin, Richard Bristow, and Thomas Worthington. 
The New Testament was printed at Rheims, in 1582, 
and the Old Testament at Douay, in 1609. The liter¬ 
ary merit of the Rheims-Douay Version stands very 
high. 

King James’s Version , the combined work of many 
learned scholars, was not printed before the year 1611. 
It is generally praised as the highest standard of class¬ 
ical English. 

ANNALS OF THE FOUR MASTERS! 

Another great work, produced at this epoch, is the 
celebrated Annals of the Four Masters . The late Pro¬ 
fessor O’Curry regarded the Annals as the largest collec¬ 
tion of national, civil, military, and family history ever 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


147 


brought together in Ireland, or perhaps in any other coun¬ 
try. They record the chief events of Irish history, from 
the earliest period to the year 1610. 

Michael O’Clery, the principal of the Four Masters, 
born in the County of Donegal, about the year 1580, was 
a Franciscan, who remained by choice a lay brother of 
the Order. His superiors encouraging his antiquarian 
tastes, he employed fifteen years in his search of docu¬ 
ments on the history of Ireland. In January, 1632, with 
the assistance of three associates,—two of them, like him¬ 
self, of the family of the O’Clerys, and one O’Muleonry, 
he began to compile the documents he had gathered, and 
in August, 1636, finished this gigantic work. Written in 
Irish characters, it partly remained in manuscript till the 
year 1851, when that great Irish scholar, Dr. O’Donovan, 
published a complete edition in seven volumes, quarto, 
comprising the Irish text, a carefully executed translation 
in English, and a vast amount of valuable notes. Not 
only the Annals of the Four Masters “must form the 
basis of all fruitful study of the history of Ireland,” as 
the learned O’Curry thought, but even “the history of 
Great Britain without them, could never be regarded as 
complete.” 


OTHER WRITERS. 

Nicholas Sander (1527-1581), mentioned by Wood as ‘the most noted 
defender of the Roman Catholic cause in his time,’ was at first Regius 
Professor of Canon Law at Oxford, where he had been educated. After 
Ins ordination he was employed by Rome in various capacities at Trent. 
Louvain, and in Spain. In 1579, he was sent as Nuncio to Ireland, 
where he was obliged to hide himself, and was starved to death about the 
y0jr 1581. 

Sander’s principal work, written in Latin, is on the rise and growth of the 
Anglican schism.* It appeared four years after the author’s death, and ob¬ 
tained great success in every country of Europe except in England, where 


* A translation with introduction and notes, by Mr. D. Lewis, was pub¬ 
lished in London in 1877. 






148 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


the zealous defenders of the Reformation resorted even to the most vulgar 
calumnies to destroy it£ authority. These calumnies have been repeated 
ever since by Protestant writers. However, “ nearly all recent examination 
of original papers of the sixteenth century tend to verify Sander's facts, 
even in cases where he was thought to be lying most outrageously. Sander s 
work must take rank as a first-class authority.”* 

Edmund Campion or Campian (1540-1581), was an eminent Jesuit, who, for 
no other offence than the exercise of his missionary duties, was arrested, 
put on the rack, hanged, and quartered. Father Campion wrote several 
books in defence of the Catholic faith. “ All writers, whether Protestant or 
Popish , say that he was a man of most admirable parts, an elegant orator, a 
subtle philosopher and disputant, and an exact preacher, whether in English 
or Latin tongue, of a sweet disposition, and a well-polished man. 1 + 

Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1536), the patron and friend of Spenser, the accom¬ 
plished man of the world, was also a distinguished writer. He is the author 
of Arcadia , the Defence of Poesy , and miscellaneous poems. His Sonnets , 
which constitute the chief part of his poetry, are replete with ‘ artificial 
conceits and elaborate nothings.’ The Arcadia is a philosophical romance 
in prose, which narrates the fictitious story of a knight and courtier. Pop¬ 
ular during the seventeenth century, neglected during the eighteenth, it 
has found readers again in our century. The Defence of Poesy , written also 
in prose, has kept up the reputation of an English classic, and deservedly. 
It contains substantially all that has ever been said in defence of the poet¬ 
ical art. Sidney, when only thirty-two years of age, was mortally wounded 
in a skirmish near Zutphen in Holland. 

Christopher Marlowe (1562-1593) is considered as the greatest English 
dramatist that preceded Shakespeare. Tamburlaine the Great , Life and 
Death of Dr. Fanstus , The Jew of Malta , and Edward II., are his chief plays. 
Tamburlaine was the first drama in blank verse acted on the stage. There 
was a legend of Dr. Faustus long current before the English poet took it up 
and immortalized it by his genius. The plays of Calderon and Goethe on 
the same subject are imitations of Marlowe’s, with more or less successful 
changes. The Jew of Malta , like the other productions of this dramatist, 
is full of horrors. He is the poet of unbridled passion and despair. His 
‘ mighty line, 1 though often disfigured by rant and bombast, and irregu¬ 
larity of metre, flows with a great variety of melody. Gifted as he was, 
Marlowe lived a riotous, licentious life, and died at the age of thirty-one, 
the victim of a tavern scuffle. 

Richard Hooker (1553-1600), whom his admirers have unduly praised as 
the judicious Hooker, owes his reputation to The Laics of Ecclesiastical 
Polity, which he wrote at the instigation of William Cecil, the crafty min¬ 
ister of Elizabeth. It is a defence of the Church of England against dis¬ 
senters. The author shows himself a bitter enemy of Catholics, whose doc¬ 
trines he perverts; full of inconsistencies and contradictions, he cannot 
disguise the Puritanical views which it was the purpose of his book to com- 


* Saturday Review (London), October 3d, 1863. This Review is conducted 
bv rationalists. See an account of Sander in the Dublin Review for Julv 
1877. 

t Atlien Oxon. 




THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


140 


bat. His style is rich, dignified, elaborate, but marred by the length and 
intricacy of the sentences.* 

Robert Parsons, or Persons (154G-1G10), was an eminent Fellow' of Oxford. 
Having made his submission to the Catholic Church, and become a Jesuit, 
he long labored by word and writing in the exercise of his priestly func¬ 
tions, notwithstanding the severity of the penal law's and the bloodhound 
zeal of the pursuivants. His pen is vigorous, even incisive, especially w r hen 
he exposes the lives of the persecutors and their abettors. All his w'orks be¬ 
long to the controversial kind. 

Francis Beaumont (1585-1015), and John Fletcher (1576-1625), combined 
their efforts to produce thirty-eight plays, the former applying chiefly to 
tragedy, and the latter to comedy. They were highly connected, and 
w’ished to please the upper classes, an object which they but too w'ell ob¬ 
tained, as their popularity at the time exceeded even that of Jonson and 
Shakespeare. After the death of Beaumont, Fletcher continued to write, 
and produced fourteen plays more. The w'orks of these tw r o dramatists 
are so degraded by licentiousness that they are now excluded from every 
decent stage. 

Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618) w'as a dashing courtier, a reckless ad¬ 
venturer, and a brilliant writer. One of the favors received by him at 
the hands of Elizabeth, w r as a liberal grant of 12,000 acres of confiscated 
Irish land. In his course of adventures beyond the sea, he discovered 
Virginia, which he thus called in honor of the Queen. Under James I. 
he wms cast into the Tower for a charge of treason from w'hich he could 
not entirely prove himself innocent. During the thirteen years of his con¬ 
finement, he w r rote the History of the World. This great v.'ork does not 
reach beyond the year 168 b.c. In it much fiction is mixed with history, 
but the style is clear, forcible, and eloquent. Raleigh has also written 
several lyric poems of merit. 

Released from his confinement on promise that he w r ould open a gold 
mine in the New World, he started in search of new adventures, but 
failed in his attempt to discover the gold. After his return, he was ac¬ 
cused by the Spaniards of having attacked them unjustly, and executed 
on the old charge of treason for which he had suffered his long impris¬ 
onment. 

William Camden (1551-1623) w'as a famous antiquary and writer of his¬ 
tory. All his w'orks are written in Latin, and relate to England. 

Michael Drayton (1563-1631), a poet of true, though somew hat enatic 
genius, is best known by his Polyolbion. This is a poem of thirty thou¬ 
sand lines in Alexandrian rhyming couplets, giving a topographical delin¬ 
eation of England. Hallam thinks that 4 there is probably no poem of 
this kind in any other language, comparable together in extent and ex¬ 
cellence to the Polyolbion.' But the distinguished critic goes on to say 
that ‘perhaps no English poem, known so well by name, is so little known 
beyond its name.: It cannot possess the unity necessary for a work of 
art, nor can it have the-utility of a topographical dictionary.- Drayton 
wrote several other poems, the subject of which is almost as unhappy as 
the Polyolbion. 

Henry Constable (b. 1566) was highly praised by Ben Jonson, and men 


* See London Tablet, February and March, 1877. 







150 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


tioned by Warton as ‘ a noted sonnet-writer.’ His love-sonnets, which 
appeared under the title Diana , have had more favor than his Spirtual 
Sonnets in praise of God and of His Saints; but this difference seems 
to have no other ground than prejudice against the expression of Catholic 
sentiments. As a specimen, we subjoin the following sonnet: 

TO OUR BLESSED LADY. 

In that, O Queen of queens! thy birth was free 
From guilt which others dotn of grace bereave. 

When in their mothers’ womb they life receive, 

God as His sole-born daughter loved thee. 

To match thee like thy birth’s nobility, 

He thee His Spirit for thy spouse did leave 
Of whom thou didst His only Son conceive, 

And so wast linked to all the Trinity. 

Cease then, O queens, who earthly crowns do wear, 

To glory in the pomp of worldly things. 

If men such high respect unto you bear, 

Whose daughters, wives, and mothers are of kings, 

What honor should unto that queen be done 
Who had your God for father, spouse, and son! 

George Herbert (1593-1632), a younger brother of the infidel Lord Her¬ 
bert of Cherbury, and a clergyman of the Establishment, spent his short 
life in the discharge of his professional duties and the composition of 
two religious works : The Parson and The Church. The Country Parson 
is a prose work in which he describes in a plain and earnest style the 
duties of a pastor. The Church is a series of about 170 small poems on 
sacred themes, distinguished for energy of thought, conciseness of dic¬ 
tion, and spiritual unction, but not free from the extravagant conceits of 
euphuism, and harshness of expression. The simple, retired, and religious 
life of Herbert, no less than his writings, give a favorable impression of 
his personal character. 

Robert Burton, or Democritus Junior, as he styled himself (1576-1640), 
is the quaint and learned author of The Anatomy of Melancholy , of which 
Dr. Johnson said that it ‘ was the only book that ever took him out of 
bed two hours sooner than he wished to rise.’ The Anatomy is an ex¬ 
traordinary medley of curious quotations and pleasing anecdotes rather 
than a work purely original. 

Philip Massinger (1584-16401, a dramatist of renown, wrote many plays, 
of which eighteen have survived, and one only, *4 New Way to Pay Old 
Debts , still keeps the stage. 

Section inu Second, or Transition Period, 

1642 - 1700 . 

The interval which begins with the Civil War and 
terminates with the seventeenth century, was not in 

4 . ' 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


151 


the main favorable to literature. During the broils 
that agitated the nation, men could not be expected 
to cultivate letters with ardor or success. Under the 
Commonwealth and the Protectorate, triumphant Puri¬ 
tanism was looked upon as a declared enemy of poets, 
wits, and artists. With the Restoration came in a 
looseness of manners and a servile imitation of French 
ideas and taste, which were more dangerous to litera¬ 
ture than even the overstrained rigidity of the Puri¬ 
tans. The stage was particularly infected. The com¬ 
edy, far from being faithful to its mission of corrector 
of morals, openly sneered at virtue and winked at prof¬ 
ligacy. Throughout the century, Euphuism con¬ 
tinued to exert a baleful influence on the literary taste. 
The whole epoch was one of change and transition. 
Milton, its greatest name, belongs by the character of 
his poetical writings to the Shakespearian times, 
whereas Dryden, who comes next in point of excellence, 
was the acknowledged master of the classical age. 

Richard Crashaw, 1610 (?)-1650. 

Richard Crashaw, an eminent religious poet, was the 
son of a London preacher. After preliminary studies 
at the Charterhouse, he went to Cambridge, where he 
was elected to a fellowship in 1637. When the Earl of 
Manchester, under the authority of the Revolted Par¬ 
liament '‘reformed’ the University by expelling such 
members as refused to subscribe the Covenant, Crashaw 
was one of the fifty-five Fellows ejected. He then 
possessed a high reputation as preacher. But he gave 
up all prospects of ambition and wealth, and made his 
submission to the Catholic Church. After some time 
spent in a state of great poverty, he went (1646) to 
Italy, where he was appointed One of the canons of 


152 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Loretto. He held this preferment till his death, which 
happened about the year 1650. 

The principal works of Crashaw are : Steps to the 
Temple, The Delights of the Muses, Sacred Poems, Poe- 
mata Latina, Epigrammata Sacra. His translations 
from the Latin and the Italian poets are masterpieces 
of the kind. His original works, although frequently 
marred by quaintness and conceits, peculiar to his 
time, are characterized by energy of thought, intense 
feeling of faith and piety, exquisite beauty, and wealth 
of diction. Crashaw was an intimate friend of Selden 
and Cowley, the latter of whom dedicated to his mem¬ 
ory one of the most touching elegies in the language. 
In his Epigrammata Sacra is found the well-known 
verse relating to the miracle of Cana : 

Lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit. 

The modest water saw its God and blushed. 

ON SENDING A PRAYER-BOOK TO A LADY. 


It is an armory of light. 

Let constant use but keep it bright, 
You’ll find it yields 
To holy hands and humble hearts 
More words and shields 
Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. 


lazarus’s tears. 

Rich Lazarus! richer in those gems, thy tears, 
Than Dives in the robes he wears : 

He scorns them now, but Oh! they’ll suit full well 
With the purple he must wear in hell. 

give to c^esar what is Caesar’s. 

All we have is God’s, and yet 
Caesar challenges a debt; 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


153 


Nor hath God a thinner share, 
Whatever Caesar’s payments are. 

All is God’s; and yet, ’tis true, 

All we have is Caesar’s too. 

All is Caesar’s; and what odds ? 

So long as Caesar’s self is God’s. 

Christ’s victory on the cross. 

Christ, when he died, 

Deceived the cross, 

• And on death’s side 
Threw all the loss : 

The captive world awaked, and found 
The prisoner loose, the jailor bound. 

O dear and sweet dispute 
'Twixt death’s and love’s far different fruit! 
Different as far 
As antidotes and poisons are. 

By that first fatal tree 
Both life and liberty 
Were sold and slain; 

By this they both look up and live again. 

O strange mysterious strife 
Of open death and hidden life! 

When on the cross my King did bleed, 

Life seemed to die, death died indeed. 

(From his Epitaph on Mr . Ashton .) 

Sermons he heard, yet not so many 
As left no time to practice any: 

He heard them reverently, and then 
His practice preached them o’er again. 


Abraham Cowley, 1618-1667. 

Abraham Cowley, a distinguished poet and one of 
the most popular and influential writers of his day, was 
born in London in 1618. He was admitted as King’s 
scholar in Westminster School, and so early imbibed a 
taste for poetry that in his sixteenth or seventeenth 


154 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


year, while yet at school, he published a collection of 
verses which he entitled Poetical Blossoms . These and 
other juvenile productions attracted considerable atten¬ 
tion towards the author, and procured him great liter¬ 
ary distinction. His poetical works are divided into 
four classes : the miscellaneous, the amatory verses, 
the Pindaric Odes , and the Davideis. The last is an 
epic of considerable length on the sufferings and glo¬ 
ries of David. Although incomplete and conveying no 
strong proof of epic talent, it contains some pleasing 
passages. It is now, however, entirely neglected. 

Cowley’s multifarious learning and well-digested re¬ 
flections, give to his writings that peculiar attraction 
which grows upon the reader, as he becomes older and 
more contemplative. He was well versed both in 
Greek and Latin literature ; and his imitations, para¬ 
phrases, and translations, show perfect knowledge of 
the originals, and a great mastery over the resources of 
the English language. What has contributed much 
to diminish Cowley’s reputation, is that abuse of intel¬ 
lectual ingenuity, that passion for learned, far-fetched, 
and recondite illustrations which was to a certain extent 
the vice of his age. Pope says of him : 

“ Who now reads Cowley ? If lie pleases yet, 

His moral pleases, not his pointed wit: 

Forgot liis Epic, nay Pindaric art, 

But still I love the language of his heart.” 

As an essayist in prose, Cowley’s style has a smooth 
and placid evenness, abounding with thought, without 
any of the affectation or straining which disfigures his 
poetry. Ilis Essay on Cromwell especially, is easy and 
graceful throughout, with the exception of the close. 
In general, it may be said of him, that few authors af¬ 
ford so many new thoughts, and those so entirely their 
own. A severe cold and fever, caught from wandering 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


155 


among the damp fields, terminated his life in 1667, in 
the forty-ninth year of his age. 

LIFE AND FAME. 

(From the Pindaric Odes.) 

O Life: thou Nothing’s younger brother! 

So like, that one might take one for the other 
What’s somebody or nobody ? 

In all the cobwebs of the schoolmen’s trade 
We no such nice distinction woven see, 

As ’tis ‘ to be ’ or ‘ not to be.’ 

Dream of a shadow ! a reflection made 
From the false glories of the gay reflected bow 
Is a more solid thing than thou. 

Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise 
Up betwixt two eternities! 

Yet canst nor wind nor wave sustain, 

But broken and overwhelmed, the endless oceans meet again. 
And with what rare invention do we strive 
Ourselves then to survive! 

Wise subtle arts and such as well befit 
That Nothing, man’s no wit— 

Some with vast costly tombs would purchase it, 

And by the proofs of death pretend to live. 

“ Here lies the great”—false Marble! where ? 

Nothing but small and sordid dust lies there. 

Some build enormous mountain-palaces, 

The fools and architects to please; 

A lasting life in well-hewn stone they rear: 

So he, who cm the Egyptian shore * 

Was slain so many hundred years before, 

Lives still (O life! most happy and most dear! 

O life! that epicures envy to hear!) 

Lives in the dropping ruins of his amphitheatre. 

His father-in-law a higher place does claim t 
In the seraphic entity Of Fame; 

He, since that toy his death, 

Does fill all mouths, and breathes in all men’s breath. 


* Pompey the Great. 

t Caesar, whose daughter was married to Pompey. 



156 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


’Tis true the two immortal syllables remain; 

But oh, ye learned men! explain 
What essence, what existence this, 

What substance, what subsistence, what hypostasis 
In six poor letters is! 

In those alone does the great Caesar live, 

’Tis all the conquered world could give. 

We poets madder yet than all, 

With a refined fantastic vanity, 

Think we not only have but give eternity. 

Fain would I see that prodigal 
Who his to-morrow would bestow 
For all old Homer’s life, e’er since he died, till now! 

TO THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy insect! what can be 
In happiness compared to thee ? 

Fed with nourishment divine, 

The dewy morning’s gentle wine! 

Nature waits upon thee still, 

And thy verdant cup does fill. 

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, 

Happier than the happiest king! 

All the fields which thou dost see, 

All the plants belong to thee. 

All that summer hours produce, 

Fertile made with early juice. 

Man for thee does sow and plough; 

Farmer he, and landlord thou! 

Thou dost innocently enjoy, 

Nor does thy luxury destroy. 

Thee country hinds with gladness hear, 
Prophet of the ripened year! 

To thee, of all things upon earth, 

Life’s no longer than thy mirth. 

Happy insect! happy thou, 

Dost neither age nor winter know. 

But when thou’st drunk, and danced, and sung 
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among, 

Sated with thy summer feast, 

Thou retir’st to endless rest. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


157 


THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE AND UNCERTAINTY OF RICHES. 

Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, 
Or, what is worse, be left by it ? 

Why dost thou load thyself when thou’rt to fly, 

O man! ordained to die ? 

Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, 

Thou who art under ground to lie ? 

Thou sow’st, and plant’st, but no fruit must see, 

For death, alas! is reaping thee. 

Suppose thou fortune couldst to tameness bring, 

And clip or pinion her wing; 

Suppose thou couldst on fate so far prevail, 

As not to cut off thy entail; 

Yet death at all that subtlety will laugh; 

Death will that foolish gardener mock, 

Who does a slight and annual plant ingraft 
Upon a lasting stock. 

Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem; 

A mighty husband thou wouldst seem; 

Fond man! like a bought slave, thou all the while 
Dost but for others sweat and toil. 

Officious fool! that needs must meddling be 
In business that concerns not thee; 

For when to future years thou extend’st thy cares, 

Thou deal’st in other men’s affairs. 

Even aged men, as if they truly were 
Children again, for age prepare; 

Provisions for long travel they design, 

In the last point of their short line. 

Wisely the ant against poor winter hoards 
The stock which summer’s wealth affords; 

In grasshoppers, which must at autumn die, 

How vain were such an industry! 

The wise example of the heavenly lark, 

Thy fellow-poet, Cowley! mark; 

Above the clouds let thy proud music sound! 

Thy humble nest build on the ground. 


158 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


John Milton, 1608-1074. 

John Milton, England’s greatest epic poet, may be re¬ 
garded as being, in many respects, the standard of dig¬ 
nified poetic expression ; although Shakespeare alone 
exhibits the varied elements of copiousness, power, and 
brilliancy inherent in our language. “It is easy,” 
says Pope, “to mark out the general course of our 
poetry: Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, and Dryden, are the 
landmarks for it.” Milton was born in London, in 1608. 
His first preceptor was a Puritan minister, named 
Young. At the age of sixteen, he was sent to Christ’s 
College, Cambridge, where he continued for seven 
years. Whilst still a member of the University, he 
wrote his Ode on the Nativity, almost any verse of which 
is sufficient to indicate a new era in poetry. The five 
years immediately succeeding his University career, he 
spent in the reading of classical works, and the compo¬ 
sition of a few poems. Lycidas is a monody on the 
death of a friend, which Johnson treats with contempt¬ 
uous depreciation, but is regarded by Warton and Ilal- 
lam as a good test of real poetic feeling. Comus, a 
masque, is the most graceful and fanciful of his poems. 
In melody of versification, sweetness of imagery, and 
the ‘ Doric delicacy of its songs and odes/ as Sir H. 
Wotton expresses it, it has never been surpassed. His 
UAllegro, an ode to mirth, and II Penseroso , an ode to 
melancholy, are two exquisite poems, in which the 
thought and mode of treatment are no less Italian than 
their titles. In 1638, he went abroad, and spent fif¬ 
teen months travelling in Italy and France. In 1644, 
appeared his Tractate on Education , in which he rejects 
the modern method of the school and university, and 
proposes in its place a system chiefly imitated from the 
gymnasia of Sparta and Athens, but totally impracti- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


159 


cable and utopian. About the same time was published 
his Areopagitica , or Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed 
Printing, the most eloquent prose composition of his 
pen. In the triumph of the Republicans, he was ap¬ 
pointed Latin Secretary of Cromwell. In 1651 was 
published his Defen&io pro Populo Anglicano , a reply to 
Salmasius, the most learned man in Europe, after 
Grotius, who had defended the claims and conduct of 
King Charles I. For nearly ten years the eyesight of 
the poet had been failing, and, in 1652, he became 
hopelessly blind. 

Dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon. 
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 
Without all hope of day !—Samson Ayonistes . 


Milton's political and religious sentiments were of 
the extremest and even most violent character. There 
appears continually in his works, we will not say, a con¬ 
test, but a contrast, between his conviction and his 
sympathies—between, his logic and his fancy. Thus, 
while Milton the polemic was advocating the overthrow 
of the monarchic institutions of England, and the de- 
truction of the hierarchic edifice of its Church, Milton 
the poet had his soul deeply penetrated with the en¬ 
thusiasm inspired by his country's history, and his ear 
ever thrilling to the majestic services of its half-Roman 
worship. The man who desired the abolition of all ex¬ 
ternal dignities on earth, has given us the grandest pict¬ 
ure of such a graduated hierarchy of orders in heaven— 

Thrones, Princedoms, Virtues, Dominations, Powers; 

he who would have reduced the externals of Christian¬ 
ity to a simplicity and meanness compared with which 
the subterranean worship of the persecuted Christians 
of the primitive ages was splendor, has exhibited a 


160 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


deeper and more prevailing admiration than any other 
poet ever showed, for the grandeur of Gothic archi¬ 
tecture, and the charms of the solemn masses of the 
ancient cathedrals: 

Cut let my due feet never fail 
To walk tlie studious cloisters’ pale 
And love the high-embowered roof, 

With antique pillars massy proof, 

And storied windows richly diglit, 

Casting a dim religious light: 

There let the pealing organs blow 
To the full-voiced choir below, 

In service high and anthems clear, 

As may with sweetness through mine ear, 

Dissolve me into ecstasies, 

And bring all heaven before mine eyes. 

—II Penseroso. 

His immortal Paradise Lost was finished in 1665, 
and first printed in 1667. It long struggled with bad 
taste and political prejudices, before it took a secure 
place among the few productions-of the human mind 
that continually rise in estimation, and are unlimited 
by time or place. It is divided into twelve books or 
cantos; it begins with the council of Satan and the 
fallen angels, the description of the erection of Pande¬ 
monium, and ends with the expulsion of our first par¬ 
ents from Paradise. “ Like other great works, and in 
a higher degree than most, the poem is oftenest studied 
and estimated by piecemeal only. Though it be so 
taken, and though its unbroken and weighty solemnity 
should at length have caused weariness, it cannot but 
have left a vivid impression on all minds not quite un¬ 
susceptible of fine influences. The stately march of its 
diction ; the organ-peal with which its versification 
rolls on; the continual overflowing, especially in the 
earlier books, of beautiful illustrations from n'ature and 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


161 


art; the clearly and brightly colored pictures of human 
happiness and innocence—these are features, some or 
all of which must be delightful to most of us, and give 
to the mind images and feelings not easily or soon 
effaced.” The first book is as unsurpassed for magnifi¬ 
cence of imagination, as the fourth is for grace and 
luxuriance. A tide of gorgeous eloquence rolls on from 
beginning to end, like a river of molten gold, outblaz- 
ing, we may surely say, everything of its kind in any 
other poetry. 

In Paradise Lost, we rarely meet with feeble lines. 
There are few in which the tone is not in some way dis¬ 
tinguished from prose. The very artificial style of 
Milton, sparing in English idiom, and his study of a 
rhythm not always the most grateful to our ears, but 
preserving his blank verse from a trivial flow, are the 
causes of this elevation. 

“ It is strange,” says Sclilegel, “that Milton failed to 
discover the incompleteness of Paradise Lost as a unique 
whole, of which the Creation, the Fall, and Redemp¬ 
tion, are so many successive acts closely linked to¬ 
gether. He eventually perceived the defect, it is true, 
and appended Paradise Regained; but the proportions 
of this latter to the first performance, were not in keep¬ 
ing, and much too slight to admit of its constituting 
an efficient keystone.” 

In studying Milton’s epic as a sacred poem, we are 
impressed by a want of awe and reserve in the handling 
of religious mysteries, when, for instance, he represents 
the Supreme Being "as a school-divine;’ and we loathe 
the grim puritanical pleasantry which he puts in the 
mouth of the rebel angels, while making the first ex¬ 
periment of their new-discovered artillery. The Mil¬ 
tonic Satan is undoubtedly one of the most stupendous 
creations of poetry; but there is a heroic grandeur in it 
11 


162 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


which wins, do what you will, a human sympathy. 
This is wrong: the representation of the devil should 
be purely and entirely evil, without a tinge of good, 
as that of God should be purely and entirely good, 
without a tinge of evil. Milton never speaks of the 
Trinity, and hardly disguises his Arianism. Yet we 
would be inclined to apply to Paradise Lost , in its re¬ 
ligious aspect, what Macaulay says of his Essay on the 
Doctrines of Christianity: “The book, were it far more 
orthodox or far more heretical than it is, would not 
much edify or corrupt the present generation.” 

About four years before his death, he published his 
tragedy of Samson Agonistes. It abounds in moral 
and descriptive beauties; but exhibits little purely 
dramatic talent, either in the development of the plot; or 
in the delineation of character. As the Comus was a 
beautiful reflection of happy youth, the Samson Ago¬ 
nistes shadows forth the gloomy grandeur of the poet’s 
old age. We seem to hear the voice of Milton’s own 
spirit in the words of his hero : 

I feel my genial spirit droop, 

My race of glory run, and race of shame; 

And I shall shortly be with them that rest. 

The defects of Milton’s prose writings may, in general, 
be given as follows : An unpleasing intermixture of 
familiar with learned phraseology; an affected elaborate 
structure seldom reaching any harmony; an absence of 
idiomatic grace, and a use of harsh inversions which 
violate the rules of language ; a frequent resort to per- 
sonal abuse of the grossest kind; above all, numberless 
errors in politics and religion, which, since the works 
are nearly forgotten, can do no great evil. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


163 


DEBATE IN PANDEMONIUM. 

High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, 

Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand 
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised 
To that bad eminence: and from despair 
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires 
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue 
Vain war with heaven; and, by success untaught, 
His proud imagination thus displayed: 

“Powers and dominions, deities of heaven; 

For since no deep within her gulf can hold 
Immortal vigor, though oppressed and fallen, 

I give not heaven for lost. From this descent 
Celestial virtues rising, will appear 
More glorious and more dread than from no fall, 
And trust themselves to fear no second fate. 

Me though just right, and the fixed laws of heaven, 
Did first create your leader: next, free choice, 

With what besides, in council or in fight, 

Hath been achieved of merit; yet this loss, 

Thus far at least recovered, hath much more 
Established in a safe unenvied throne, 

Yielded with full consent. The happier state 
In heaven, which follows dignity, might draw 
Envy from each inferior; but who here 
Will envy whom the highest place exposes 
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer’s aim, 
Your bulwark, and condemns to greater share 
Of endless pain? Where there is then no good 
For which to strive, no strife can grow up there 
From faction; for none sure will claim in hell 
Precedence, none whose portion is so small 
Of present pain, that with ambitious mind 
Will covet more. With this advantage then 
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, 

More than can be in heaven, we now return 
To claim our just inheritance of old, 

Surer to prosper than prosperity 

Could have assured us; and by what best way, 


164 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Whether of open war, or covert guile, 

We now debate; who can advise, may speak.” 

.Up rose 

Belial, in act .more graceful and humane: 

A fairer person lost not heaven; he seemed 
For dignity composed, and high exploit: 

But all was false and hollow; though his tongue 
Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear 
The better reason, to perplex and dash 
Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low: 

To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 
Timorous and slothful; yet he pleased the ear, 

And with persuasive accent thus began: 

“ I should be much for open war, O peers, 

As not behind in hate; if what was urged 
Main reason to persuade immediate war, 

Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast 
Ominous conjecture on the whole success; 

When he, who most excels in fact of arms, 

In what he counsels, and in what excels, 

Mistrustful grounds his courage on despair 
And utter dissolution, as the scope 
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 

First, what revenge? The towers of heaven are filled 
With armed watch, that render all access 
Impregnable; oft on the bordering deep 
Encamp their legions; or, with obscure wing, 

Scout far and wide into the realm of night, 

Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way 
By force, and at our heels all hell should rise 
With blackest insurrection, to confound 
Heaven’s purest light; yet our great enemy 
All incorruptible, would oil his throne 
Sit unpolluted; and the ethereal mould, 

Incapable of stain, would soon expel 
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, 

Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
Is flat despair: we must exasperate 
The almighty Victor to spend all his rage, 

And that must end us; that must be our cure, 

To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


165 


Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 

To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
In the wide womb of uncreated night, 

Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, 
Let this be good, whether our angry foe 
Can give it, or will ever ? how he can, 

Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure. 

Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, 

Belike through impotence, or unaware, 

To give his enemies their wish, and end 
Them in his anger, whom his anger saves 
To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then? 
Say they who counsel war, We are decreed, 
Deserved, and destined, to eternal woe; 

Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, 

What can we suffer worse? Is this then worst, 
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? 

What, when we lied amain, pursued, and struck 
With heaven’s afflicting thunder, and besought 
The deep to shelter us? this hell then seemed 
A refuge from those wounds: or when lay 
Chained on the burning lake? that sure was worse. 
What if the breath that kindled those giim fires, 
Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, 
And plunge us in the flames? or, from above, 
Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
His red right hand to plague us? What if all 
Her stores were opened, and this firmament 
Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, 
Independent horrors, threatening hideous fall 
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps, 
Designing or exhorting glorious war, 

Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurled 
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 
Of wracking whirlwinds; or forever sunk 
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; 

There to converse with everlasting groans, 
IJnrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, 

Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse. 

War, therefore, open or concealed, alike 
My voice dissuades.” 


166 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


The Third Book opens bj an easy transition, with an 
address to Light. The whole passage has been greatly 
admired: 


ADDRESS TO LIGHT. 

Hail, lioly light! offspring of heaven first-born, 

Or of the Eternal coeternal beam 

May I express thee unblamed! since God is light, 

And never but in unapproached light 

Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 

Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 

Or hearest thou rather, pure ethereal stream, 

Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun, 
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters dark and deep, 

Won from the void and formless infinite. 

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 

Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight 
Through utter and through middle daikness borne, 
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 

I sung of Chaos and eternal Night; 

Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to reascend, 

Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, 

And feel thy sovereign vital lamp; but thou 
Revisitest not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; 

So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 

Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander where the muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 

Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 

That wash thy hallowed feet and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget 
Those other two equalled with them in renown, 
Blind Thamyris, and blind Mseonides, 

And Tiresias, and Pliinens, prophets old: 

Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary movo 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


167 


Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid 
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 
Seasons return; but not to me returns 
Hay, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 

Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose, 

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; 

But cloud instead, and everduring dark 
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair, 

Presented with a universal blank 
Of nature’s works to me expunged and rased, 

And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 

So much the rather thou, celestial light, 

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence 
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
Of things invisible to mortal sight. 

SATAN’S SOLILOQUY ON VIEWING PARADISE AT A DISTANCE. 

Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view 
Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixed sad; 

Sometimes towards heaven, and the full blazing sun, 
Which now sat high in his meridian tower: 

Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began : 

“ O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned, 

Lookest from thy sole dominion like the god 
Of this new world: at whose sight all the stars 
Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call, 

But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 

O sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, 

That bring to my remembrance from what state 
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere; 

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down 
Warring in heaven against heaven’s matchless King. 

Ah, wherefore? he deserved no such return 
From mo whom he created what I was 
In that bright eminence, and with his good 
Upbraided none, nor was his service hard. 

What could be less than to afford him praise, 

The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks, 


168 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


How due! yet all his good proved ill in me, 

And wrought but malice; lifted up so high 
I disdained subjection, and thought one step higher 
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit 
The debt immense of endless gratitude, 

So burdensome still paying, still to owe; 

Forgetful what from him 1 still received, 

And understood not that a grateful mind 
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once 
Indebted and discharged; what burden then? 

O had his powerful destiny ordained 
Me some inferior angel, I had stood 
Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised 
Ambition. Yet why not? some other power 
As great might have aspired, and me, though mean, 
Drawn to his part; but other powers as great 
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within 
Or from without, to all temptations armed. 

Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand? 
Thou hadst; whom hast thou then or what to accuse, 
But heaven’s free love dealt equally to all? 

Be then his love accursed, since love or hate, 

To me alike, it deals eternal woe. 

Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will 
Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 

Me miserable! which way shall I fly 
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? 

Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; 

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep 
Still threatening to devour me opens wide, 

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. 

O, then, at last relent : is there no place 
Left for repentance, none for pardon left? 

None left but by submission; and that word 
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced 
With other promises and other vaunts 
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue 
The Omnipotent. Ay me! they little know 
How dearly I abide that boast so vain, 

Under what torments inwardly I groan, 

While they adore me on the throne of hell, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


169 


With diadem and sceptre high advanced, 

The lower still I fall, only supreme 
In misery: such joy ambition finds. 

But say I could repent and could obtain, 

By act of grace, my former state* how soon 
Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay 
Which feigned submission swore! Ease would recant 
Vows made in pain, as violent and void. 

For never can true reconcilement grow, 

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep; 
Which would but lead me to a worse relapse 
And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear 
Short intermission bought with double smart. 

This knows my Punisher; therefore as far 
From granting he, as I from begging, peace: 

All hope excluded thus, behold, instead 
Of us outcast, exiled, his new delight 
Mankind created, and for him this world. 

So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, 
Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost; 

Evil, be thou my good: by thee at least 
Divided empire with heaven’s King I hold, 

By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign; 

As man ere long, and this new world shall know.” 

ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST’S NATIVITY. 

It was the winter wild, 

While the heaven-born child 
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; 
Nature, in awe to Him, 

Had doffed her gaudy trim, 

With her great Master so to sympathize: 

It was no season then for her 
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 
****** 

No war, or battle sound, 

Was heard the world around: 

The idle spear and shield were high up hung; 
The hooked chariot stood 
Unstained with hostile blood; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; 


170 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


And kings sat still with awful eye, 

As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. 

But peaceful was the night, 

Wherein the Prince of Light 
His reign of peace upon the earth began: 

The winds, with wonder whist, 

Smoothly the waters kissed, 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, 

Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 

The stars with deep amaze, 

Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, 

Bending one way their precious influence; 

And will not take their flight, 

For all the morning light, » 

Or Lucifer that often warned them thence, 

But in their glimmering orbs did glow, 

Until the Lord himself bespake and bid them go. 
****** 

The shepherds on the lawn, 

Or ere the point of dawn, 

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row: 

Full little thought they then, 

That the mighty Pan 

Was kindly come to live with them below; 

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, 

Was all that did tlieir silly thoughts so busy keep. 

When such music sweet 
Their hearts and ears did greet, 

As never was by mortal finger strook; 
Divinely-warbled voice 
Answering the stringed noise: 

As all their souls in blissful rapture took: 

The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 
****** 

The oracles are dumb, 

No voice or hideous hum 

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. 
Apollo from his shrine 
Can no more divine, 

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


171 


No nightly trance, or breathed spell, 

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 

The lonely mountains o’er, 

And the resounding shore, 

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; 

From haunted spring and dale, 

Edged with poplar pale, 

The parting genius is with sighing sent; 

With flower-inwoven tresses torn, 

The nymphs in twilight shades of tangled thickets mourn. 

In consecrated earth, 

And on the holy hearth, 

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; 

In urns, and altars round, 

A drear and dying sound 
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; 

And the chill marble seems to sweat, 

While each peculiar powder foregoes his wonted seat. 
****** 

So, when the sun in bed, 

Curtained with cloudy red, 

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 

The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to the infernal jail, 

Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave; 

And the yellow-skirted fays 

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. 

But see, the Virgin blest 
Hath laid her Babe to rest; 

Time is, our tedious song should here have ending. 
Heaven’s youngest-teemed star 
Hath fixed her polished car, 

Her sleeping Lord, with handmaid lamp, attending: 

And all about the courtly stable 

Bright harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. 

Samuel Butler, 1612-1680. 

Samuel Butler, the author of the famous Hudibras, 
was born in Worcestershire, in 1612. It is generally 
thought that he was educated at Cambridge, although 


172 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


some have denied that he enjoyed the advantages of a 
university education. He resided for some time with 
Sir Samuel Luke, a commander under Cromwell. In 
this situation, he acquired the materials for his Hudi¬ 
bras, by a study of those around him, and particularly 
of Sir Samuel himself, a caricature of whom is ex¬ 
hibited in the celebrated Knight Hudibras, the hero of 
the poem. 

The name of Hudibras is taken from the old 
romances of chivalry, Sir Hugh de Bras being one of 
the Knights of King Arthur's Round Table.* The 
poem itself is a burlesque on the extravagant ideas and 
rigid manners of the English Puritans of the Civil 
War and Commonwealth. The versification is the 
rhymed iambic tetrameter, a measure well adapted 
for continuous and easy narrative, and peculiarly fitted 
for the burlesque. The learning, the inexhaustible 
wit, the ingenious and felicitous illustrations, do not 
however prevent us from perceiving that the intrigue 
is so limited and defective as scarcely to deserve the 
name of plot; and that the action is inconsistent and 
left unfinished at the conclusion, if indeed the abrupt 
termination of a poem in which nothing is concluded, 
can be called a conclusion. 

Incomplete as it is, it obtained at once an immense 
popularity. Yet the plethora of wit, the condensation 
of thought and style, which so highly characterize this 
production, the vulgarity of the language, soon be¬ 
come tiresome and oppressive; and, after perusing 
some thirty or forty pages, the reader would fain relin- 


* The Knights of the Round Table, a military order supposed to have 
been instituted by Arthur, a renowned British chieftain, in the year 516. 
They are said to have been twenty-four in number, all selected from among 
the bravest of the nation. The Round Table, which gave them their title, 
was an invention of that prince to avoid disputes about the upper and lower 
end, and to take away all emulation as to places. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


173 


quisli the task and pass to something more dignified, 
less sparkling or whimsical. As a work intended to 
ridicule the Puritans, the attraction of Hudibras was 
great, but temporary. As applicable to classes of 
characters which exist forever, the pungency will 
always be relished. Fanaticism, hypocrisy, and time¬ 
serving venality, are of all ages. The idiomatic spirit 
of this celebrated satirist, his proverb-like oddity and 
humor of expression, have caused many of his lines 
and similes to be completely identified with the lan¬ 
guage. 

Celebrated as Hudibras rendered its author, it did 
nothing towards extricating him from indigence. The 
unfortunate and ill-requited laureate of the Royalists, 
died in 1680 , not possessing sufficient property to pay 
his funeral expenses. A monument was indeed erected 
to his memory in Westminster Abbey, forty years after 
his death; and this tardy recognition of his merit, gave 
occasion to one of the keenest epigrams in the English 
language: 

“Whilst Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, 

No generous patron would a dinner give: 

See him when starved to death and turned to dust, 
Presented with a monumental bust; 

The poet’s fate is here in emblem shown: 

He asked for bread, and he received a stone.” 

SIR HUDIBRAS AND IIIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 

When civil dudgeon first grew high, 

And men fell out, they knew not why, 

When hard words, jealousies, and fears, 

Set folks together by the ears; . . . 

When gospel-trumpeter, surrounded 
By long-eared rout, to battle sounded, 

And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, 

Was beat with fist instead of a stick; 


174 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Then did Sir Kniglit abandon dwelling, 
And out he rode a-colonelling. 

A wight he was, whose very sight would 
Entitle him mirror of knighthood, 

That uever bowed his stubborn knee 
To anything but chivalry, 

Nor put up blow but that which laid 
Right worshipful on shoulder blade. . . . 
We grant, altlio’ he had much wit, 

He was very shy of using it; 

As being loth to wear it out, 

And therefore bore it not about 
Unless on holidays or so, 

As men their best apparel do. 

Besides, ’tis known he could speak Greek, 
As naturally as pigs squeak. 

That Latin was no more difficile 
Than to a blackbird ’tis to whistle: 

Being rich in both, he never scanted 
His bounty unto such as wanted; 

But much of either would afford 
To many that had not one word. . . . 

lie was in logic a great critic, 
Profoundly skilled in analytic. 

He could distinguish and divide 
A hair ’twixt south and southwest side: 
On either which he would dispute, 
Confute, change hands, and still confute. 
He’d undertake to prove, by force 
Of argument,—a man’s no horse; 

He’d prove a buzzard—is no fowl, 

And tliat’a lord may be—an owl; 

A calf—an alderman; a goose—a justice; 
And rooks—committee-men and trustees. 
He’d run in debt by disputation, 

And pay with ratiocination. 

All this by syllogism, true 
In mood and figure, he would do. 

For rhetoric—he could not ope 
His mouth but out there flew a trope; 
And when he happened to break off 
In the middle of his speech or cough, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


175 


He had hard words ready to show why, 

And tell what rule he did it by; 

Else, when with greatest art he spoke, 

You’d think he talked like other folk; 

For all a rhetorician’s rules 
Teach nothing but to name his tools. 

But, when he pleased to sliow’t, his speech 
In loftiness of sound was rich; 

A Babylonish dialect, 

Which learned pedants much affect. 

It was a parti-colored dress 
Of patched and piebald languages: 

• ’Twas English cut on Greek and Latin, 

As fustian heretofore on satin: 

It had an odd promiscuous tone, 

As if he had talked three parts in one: 

Which made some think, when he did gabble, 
They had heard three laborers of Babel, 

Or Cerberus himself pronounce 
A leash of languages at once. 

IIIS RELIGION. 

For his religion, it was fit 
To match his learning and his wit: 

’Twas Presbyterian true blue. 

For he was of that stubborn crew 
Of errant saints, whom all men grant 
To be the true church militant; 

Such as do build their faith upon 
The holy text of pike and gun; 

Decide all controversies by 
Infallible artillery; 

And prove their doctrine orthodox 
By apostolic blows and knocks; 

Call fire, and sword, and desolation 
A godly thorough reformation, 

Which always must be carried on, 

And still be doing, never done; 

As if religion were intended 
For nothing else but to be mended; 

A sect whose chief devotion lies 
In odd perverse antipathies; 


176 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Ill falling out with that or this, 

And finding somewhat still amiss; 

More peevish, cross, and splenetic, 

Than dog distraught or monkey sick; 
That with more care keep holiday 
The wrong, than others the right way; 
Compound for sins they are inclined to, 
By damning those they have no mind to. 
Still so perverse and opposite, 

As if they worshipped God for spite. 


John Bunyan, 1G28-1G88. 

John Bunyan, the famous author of Pilgrim’s Prog¬ 
ress , was the son of a tinker, and himself a tinker dur¬ 
ing his youth. He had no other education than what 
he could get at the elementary school of his native 
place, in Bedfordshire. According to his own account, 
his early life was wild and vicious; but he soon changed 
for the better: for he tells us, that, when nineteen 
years of age, he thought no man in England could 
please God better than himself. lie joined the Bap¬ 
tist congregation in Bedford, and, upon the preacher’s 
death, was appointed to succeed him. In the dis¬ 
charge of this office, he displayed such enthusiasm and 
imagination, that the civil authorities indicted him as 
a promoter of seditious gatherings, and subsequently 
cast him into Bedford jail. It was during the twelve 
years of his confinement that he wrote Pilgrim’s Prog¬ 
ress , an allegory in prose, meant to illustrate the 
Christian’s way to heaven, that is, the Christian’s way 
as understood by a Baptist. The allegory is pretty 
well sustained, and the characters are aptly drawn. 
The style, which is enlivened by dialogue, is idiomatic, 
simple, at times vulgar. Macaulay has bestowed ex¬ 
travagant praise on the merits of Pilgrim’s Progress 
and the genius of its author. The brilliant essayist 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


177 


forgets that popularity is not an absolute test of excel¬ 
lence; if it were, then the allegory of Bunyan must be 
ranked above the epic of Milton, and even the plays of 
Shakespeare. 

It has been asserted that the work is not altogether 
original, but was suggested by some foreign book trans¬ 
lated into English: time may yet bring more light on 
this point. Bunyan wrote other works, the principal 
of which are. Holy War, Grace Abounding, Justification 
by Jesus Christ, and The Holy City ; but they are com¬ 
paratively neglected. 

JonN Dryden, 1631-1700. 

John Dry den, one of the greatest masters of English 
verse, styled by Dr. Johnson father of English critics, 
and whose masculine satire has never been excelled, 
was born in Northamptonshire, in 1631. He was edu¬ 
cated partly at Westminster, and partly at Trinity 
College, Cambridge. His first acknowledged publica¬ 
tion, was a poem on the death of Lord Hastings; but 
his most important and promising early production, 
was a set of heroic stanzas on the death of Cromwell. 

In 1662, he became a candidate for theatrical laurels; 
and, within the space of thirty years, produced twenty- 
seven plays, the most popular of which are The Indian 
Emperor and The Conquest of Granada. His dramatic 
efforts, however, were for the most part failures; and he 
had but too much cause for the repentance which he 
expresses in regard to the licentiousness with which 
they are defiled. Deeply is it to be regretted, that his 
great talents were so instrumental in extending and 
prolonging the depravation of national taste. His 
comedy is, with scarcely an exception, false to nature, 
12 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


178 

ill-arranged, and offensive equally to taste and moral¬ 
ity. . . ,, 

In 1667, appeared Annus MiraUlis , a poem on the 
memorable events of 1666,* which may be esteemed his 
most elaborate work. In 1681, Dryden published the 
political satire of Absalom and Achitophel , written in 
•the style of a scriptural narrative, in which the inci¬ 
dents of the rebellion of Absalom against David are ad¬ 
mirably applied to Charles II., the Duke of Monmouth, 
and the intriguing Earl of Shaftesbury. It is consid¬ 
ered the most vigorous, elastic, and finely versified 
satire in the English language. The attacks of a rival 
poet, Shadwell, drew from his pen, in 1682, another 
vigorous satire entitled Mac-Flecknoe. 

In the same year was published his Religio Laid, a 
poem written to defend the Church of England against 
the dissenters; yet evincing a sceptical spirit with re¬ 
gard to revealed religion. His doubts, however, about 
religion were dispelled when he embraced the Roman 
Catholic faith. Satisfied with the prospect of an in¬ 
fallible guide, he exclaimed: 

Good life, be now my task—my doubts are done. 

The first public fruit of his conversion was a contro¬ 
versial poem of great force and beauty of versification, 
The Hind and The Panther (1687). The milk-white 
Hind is the Church of Rome; the spotted Panther is 
the Church of England; while the Independents, 
Quakers, Calvinists, and other sects, are represented 
by bears, hares, wolves, and other animals. The fol¬ 
lowing opening lines, which Johnson styles lofty, ele¬ 
gant, and musical, rank among the most beautiful in 
our language: 


* 1 An expensive, though necessary war, a consuming pestilence, and a 
more consuming Are.’ 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 179 

A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged, 

Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged: 

Without unspotted, innocent within, 

She feared no danger, for she knew no sin. 

Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds, 

And Scythian shafts, and many-winged wounds, 

Aimed at her heart; was often forced to fly, 

And doomed to death, though fated not to die. 

“ The wit ^ the Hind and Panther” says Hallam, 
“is sharp, ready, and pleasant; the reasoning in some¬ 
times admirably close and strong; it is the energy of 
Bossuet inverse.” “A more just and complete esti¬ 
mate of his natural and acquired powers, of the merits 
of his style and of its blemishes, may be formed from 
the Hind and Panther, than from any of his other 
writings.”* Dryden also gave to the world versions of 
Juvenal and Persius, and a still weightier task, his cel¬ 
ebrated translation of Virgil, published in 1697, which 
Pope hesitates not to characterize as the most noble 
and spirited translation he knew of in any language. 
The Ode to St. Cecilia, commonly called Alexander’s 
Feast, was Dryden's next effort. It is the loftiest and 
most imaginative of all his compositions, and one of 
the noblest lyrics in the English language. 

The Fahles, published in his sixty-eighth year, are 
imitations of Boccaccio and Chaucer, and afford the 
finest specimens of Dry den's happy versification : 

‘ The varying verse, the full resounding line, 

The long majestic march, and energy divine.’— Pope. 

At this advanced age, his fancy was even brighter 
and more prolific than ever. Like a calm and brilliant 
sunset, it shed a lustre on the last days of the poet. 

His principal prose compositions are his Essay on 
Dramatic Poetry, and his admirable Prefaces and Dedica- 


* Macaulay. 



180 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


tions. If there is a doubt whether he can rank with 
the first class of poets, there can he no question of his 
pre-eminence as a writer of prose. “ ihe matchless 
prose of Dry den,” says Lord Brougham, “ is rich, va¬ 
rious, natural, animated, pointed, lending itself to the 
logical as well as the narrative and picturesque ; never 
balking, never cloying, never wearying. The vigor, 
freedom, variety, copiousness, that speaks an exhaust¬ 
less fountain from its source: nothing can surpass Dry- 
den.” “ The prose of Dryden,” says Sir Walter Scott, 
‘•'may rank with the best in the English language. It 
is no less of his own formation than his versification; 
it is equally spirited, and equally harmonious.” 

In disposition and moral character, Dryden is repre¬ 
sented as most amiable. He declares, however, that 
he was not one of those whose sprightly sayings di¬ 
verted company. One of his censurers makes him re¬ 
mark of himself, 

“ To writing bred, I knew not wliat to say.” 

By Congreve, who spoke from observation, he is de¬ 
scribed as ‘ very modest and very easily to be discoun¬ 
tenanced, in his approaches to his equals or superiors.’ 
“If,” remarks Sir Walter Scott, “we are to judge 
of Dryden’s sincerity in his new faith by the deter¬ 
mined firmness with which he retained it, we must 
allow him to have been a martyr, or at least a con¬ 
fessor in the Catholic cause.” His death was occa¬ 
sioned by an inflammation of the feet, which termi¬ 
nated in mortification, May, 1700. He died in the 
profession of the Catholic faith, with submission and 
resignation to the divine will. His body was interred 
in Westminster Abbey, next to the tomb of Chaucer. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


181 


REASON BUT AN AID TO FAITH. 

(From Religio Laid.) 

Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars 
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers, 

Is Reason to the soul : and, as on high, 

Those rolling fires discover but the sky, 

Not light us here ; so Reason’s glimmering ray 
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, 

But guide us upward to a better day. 

And as those nightly tapers disappear, 

When day’s bright lord ascends our hemisphere ; 

So pale grows Reason at Religion’s sight; 

So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light. 

Some few whose lamps shone brighter, have been led 
From cause to cause, to nature’s secret head ; 

And found that one first principle must be: 

But what, or who, that universal He; 

Whether some soul encompassing this ball, 

Unmade, unmoved; yet making, moving all; 

Or various atoms’ interfering "dance 
Leaped into form, the noble work of chance; 

Or this great all was from eternity; 

Not e’en the Stagirite himself could see; 

And Epicurus guessed as well as he: 

And blindly groped they for a future state; 

As rashly judged of providence and fate: 

But least of all could their endeavors find 
What most concerned the good of human kind: 

For happiness was never to be found; 

But vanished from them like enchanted ground. 

One thought Content the good to be enjoyed: 

This every little accident destroyed: 

The wiser madmen did for Virtue toil: 

A thorny, or at best a barren soil: 

In pleasure some their glutton souls would steep, 

But found their line too short, the well too deep; 

And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep. 

Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll, 

Without a centre where to fix the soul: 

In this wild maze their vain endeavors end: 

How can the less the greater comprehend ? 


182 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Or finite reason reach Infinity ? 

For what could fathom God were more than He. 

ALEXANDER’S FEAST. 

An Ode in honor of St. Cecilia’s Day. 

’Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip’s warlike son; 

Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 

On his imperial throne; 

His valiant peers were placed around; 

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound,— 

So should desert in arms be crowned: 

The lovely Thais, by his side, 

Sate, like a blooming Eastern bride, 

In flower of youth and beauty’s pride. 

Happy, happy, happy pair! 

Hone but the brave, 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave deserves the fair. 

Timotlieus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire, 

With flying fingers touched the lyre: 

The trembling notes ascend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; 

Fought all his battles o’er again; 

And thrice he. routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the 
slain. 

The master saw the madness rise; 

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 

And, while he Heaven and Earth defied, 

Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 

He chose a mournful Muse, 

Soft pity to infuse: 

He sung Darius great and good, 

By too severe a fate 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 

Fallen from his high estate, 

And weltering in his blood; 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


183 


Deserted at his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed, 

On the bare earth exposed he lies, 

With not a friend to close his eyes. 

With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, 
Revolving in his altered soul 

The various turns of Chance below; 
And now and then a sigh he stole, 

And tears began to flow. 


The-mighty master smiled, to see 
That love was in the next degree: 

’Twas but a kindred sound to move, 

For pity melts the mind to love. 

Softly sweet in Lydian measures 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 

War, he sung, is toil and trouble: 

Honor but an empty bubble; 

Never ending, still beginning, 

Fighting still, and still destroying; 

If the world be worth thy winning, 

Think, O think it worth enjoying: 

Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 

Take the goods the gods provide thee! 

The many rend the skies with loud applause; 

So love was crowned, but Music won the cause. 

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 

Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 

And sighed and looked, sighed and looked. 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again: 

At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again: 

A louder yet and yet a louder strain. 

Break his bands of sleep asunder, 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark, hark, the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head, 

As, awaked from the dead, 

And amazed, he stares around. 


184 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Revenge! revenge! Timotlicus cries, 

See the Furies arise: 

See the snakes that they rear, 

How they hiss in their hair, 

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes} 

Behold a ghastly band, 

Each a torch in his hand! 

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain: 

Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew! 

Behold how they toss their torches on high, 

How they point to the Persian abodes, 

And glittering temples of their hostile gods! 

The princes applaud with a furious joy; 

And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; 
Thais led the way, 

To light him to his prey, 

And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 

Thus, long ago, 

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 

While organs yet were mute, 

Timotheus to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre 

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 

At last divine Cecilia came, 

Inventress of the vocal frame; 

The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 

And added length to solemn sounds, 

With Nature’s motlier-wit, and arts unknown before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 

He raised a mortal to the skies, 

She drew an angel down. 

CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION UNDER HUMAN REPROACH. 
(From The Hind and Panther.) 

Be vengeance wholly left to powers divine! . . . 

If joys hereafter must be purchased here, 

With loss of all that mortals hold most dear, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


185 


Then, welcome, infamy and public shame, 

And last, along farewell to worldly fame! 

’Tis said with ease, but, oh, how hardly tried 
By haughty souls to human honor tied! 

Oh, sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride! 

Down, then, thou rebel, never more to rise! 

And what thou didst, and dost, so dearly prize, 

That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sacrifice;— 
’Tis nothing thou hast given; then add thy tears 
For a long race of unrepenting years ; 

’Tis nothing yet, yet all thou hast to give; 

Then add those may-be years thou hast to live; 

Yet nothing still; then poor and naked come; 

Thy Father will receive his unthrift home, 

And thy blessed Saviour’s blood discharge the mighty sum. 

HISTORY. 

It may now be expected that, having written the life of a 
historian [Plutarch], I should take occasion to write somewhat 
concerning history itself. But I think to commend it is un¬ 
necessary, for the profit and pleasure of that story are so very 
obvious, that a quick reader will be beforehand with me, and 
imagine faster than I can write. Besides that the post is 
taken up already; and but few authors have travelled this way, 
but who have strewed it with rhetoric as they passed. For 
my own part, who must confess it to my shame that I never 
read anything but for pleasure, it has always been the most 
delightful entertainment of my life; but they who have em¬ 
ployed the study of it, as they ought, for their instruction, for 
the regulation of their private manners, and the management 
of public affairs, must agree with me that it is the most pleas¬ 
ant school of wisdom. It is a familiarity with past ages, and 
an acquaintance with all the heroes of them; it is, if you will 
pardon the similitude, a prospective glass, carrying your soul 
to a vast distance, and taking in the farthest objects of antiq¬ 
uity. It informs the understanding by the memory; it helps 
us to judge of what will happen by showing us the like revolu¬ 
tion of former times. For, mankind being the same in all ages, 
agitated by the same passions, and moved to action by the 
same interests, nothing can come to pass but some precedent 
of the like nature has already been produced; so that having 
the causes before our eyes, wc cannot easily be deceived in the 


186 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


effects, if we have judgment enough but to draw the parallel. 
God, it is true, with his divine providence overrules and guides 
all actions to the secret end he has ordained them; but, in the 
way of human causes, a wise man may easily discern that 
there is a natural connection betwixt them; and, though he 
cannot foresee accidents, or all things that possibly can come, 
he may apply examples, and by tli-em foretell that from the 
like counsels will probably succeed the like events; and there¬ 
by in all concernments, and all offices of life, be instructed in 
the two main points on which depend our happiness—that is, 
what to avoid, and what to choose. 

OTHER WRITERS. 

William Habington (1605-1634), belonged to a Catholic family of good 
standing. He was educated at the Jesuit College of St. Oraer and in Paris. 
At the request of Charles I. he wrote a History of Edward IV. He composed 
a play, The Queen of Arragon , which was acted at court, and Observations 
on History. The Castara of his verse is his wife, whose good qualities he 
celebrates in the purest accents of love, and great elegance of style; and, 
under the same title, he collected and published his poems. “ Habing¬ 
ton writes ever like a Christian and a gentleman, as well as like a poet.” * 

Sir Kenelm Digby (.1603-1605) was one of the most remarkable men of his 
time. Wood styles him ‘a magazine of all the arts,’and Clarendon, his 
contemporary, declares that he had all the advantages that nature, and art, 
and an excellent education, can give. He wrote many works of natural 
philosophy, and several others of a religious or controversial character. At 
the age of thirty-three, he left the Church of England to profess the Catho¬ 
lic faith, on which account he suffered exile and pecuniary losses. To the 
end of his life, he remained a type of the true Christian knight. 

James Shirley (1594-1666) closes the Shakespearian era of dramatic writ¬ 
ers. He gave up the curacy of St. Albans to embrace the Catholic faith. 
Thenceforth he had to work hard for his daily bread, first as a teacher, 
afterwards as a writer for the stage. He wrote thirty-nine plays, of which 
Gamesters is reputed the best. In one of them is found a fine lyric, Death's 
Final Conquest. Shirley excels his contemporary dramatists in purity of 
thought and expression. 

We quote the first stanza of Death's Final Conquest: 

The glories of our blood and state 
Are shadows, not substantial things; 

There is no armor against fate, 

Death lays his icy hand on kings. 

Sceptre and crown 
Must tumble down, 

And in the dust be equal marie 

With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 


* Aubrey de Yere. 




THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


187 


Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), a Protestant Bishop, is generally considered 
as the most eloquent pulpit orator produced by the Anglican Establishment. 
He is the author of many religious works and sermons. Their characteris¬ 
tic defects are luxuriance of imagination, accumulation of ill-seasoned 
learning, excessive use and straining of rhetorical flowers. “ The eloquence 
of Taylor is great," says Hallam, "but it is not eloquence of the highest 
class: it is far too Asiatic.” 

Sir William Davenant (1003-1653), called by Southey a poet of rare and 
indubitable genius, had more fame in his time than he has preserved. He 
wrote as many as twenty-five plays and many other poetical works. Gondi- 
bert, the best known of his productions, is an unfinished heroic poem of 6000 
lines, of which Scott has said that ‘ few poems afford more instances of vig¬ 
orous conception, and even of felicity of expression.’ But the chief merit of 
Davenant, in our estimation, is the effort which he made 4 to rescue poetry 
from becoming the mere handmaid of pleasure, and to restore her to her 
natural rank in society, as an auxiliary of religion and virtue.’ In 1633, he 
succeeded Ben Jonson as poet-laureate; and, a few years later, became a 
Roman G’atholic. During the Commonwealth, when imprisoned and in 
danger of his life, he owed his release to Milton’s interference; a service 
which he repaid after the Restoration by successfully exerting his influence 
in behalf of his benefactor and brother poet. 

Sir John Denham (1615-1668), the author of Cooper's Hill, was born at 
Dublin, of a noble family. With other dissolute cavaliers, he soon squan¬ 
dered his fortune, which, however, he found means to repair at the Restora¬ 
tion. Cooper's Hill describes the scenery along the banks and in the vicinity 
of the Thames. Dryden declared that 44 Cooper's Hill is, and ever will be, 
the standard of good writing.” Denham wrote other works, Sophy , a trag¬ 
edy, The Destruction of Troy, Cato Major, which are all but forgotten. 

Robert Herrick (1591-1674) still holds a high rank among the lyric poets 
of England. Some of his effusions, as his odes To Blossoms, To Daffodils, 
and To Meadows are distinguished for their brilliancy and terseness. Un¬ 
fortunately, the greater number are tainted with unpardonable licentious¬ 
ness. 

Edward Hyde (1608-1674), Earl of Clarendon, was alike eminent as a states¬ 
man of great ability, and a writer of uncommon merit. Educated at Oxford, 
and subsequently a lawyer of distinction, he began in 1610 his political 
career as a member of Parliament. The cause of Charles I. had never a 
more zealous and faithful adherent than Clarendon. He shared the wander¬ 
ings, hardships, and poverty of the royal exile, Charles II. The Restoration 
paid him back with the highest honors in the gift of the king. But the envy 
of his enemies, well seconded by the haughtiness of his own disposition, 
forced him to a second exile, which gradually bent him to the grave. 

Clarendon’s writings are numerous and of great value. The most impor¬ 
tant is the History of the Rebellion, that is, of the civil war connected with 
the expulsion and restoration of the Stuarts (1640-1060). His characters are 
drawn with a masterly hand. His style is simple, clear, and idiomatic. But 
he is an out-and-out partisan, and therefore cannot be trusted entirely. His 
sentences are too lengthy and defiant of the rules of grammar. Clarendon 
wrote also an Account of his own Life, which is full of interest. There he 
tells us of the guiding rule which he adopted, of seeking the company of 
persons better than himself; and hence “ he never was so proud, or thought 


188 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


himself so good a man, as when he was the worst man in the company.” 
The State Papers during the reigns of Charles I. and Charles II. are also 
from his pen, and rank among his best efforts. His other works are: Brief 
View of Hobbes's Leviathan, History of the Rebellion and Civil Wars in 
Ireland. 

Sir Thomas Browne (1005-1682), M.D., has kept the reputation of a deep 
thinker. His great work is Religio Medici, which at once obtained distinc¬ 
tion for its author, at home and abroad. It is a philosophical treatise, in 
English, on Christian faith and charity. Prejudices blinded him to the last 
conclusion which Christian philosophy must draw in behalf of the Roman 
Catholic Church, as the sole judge of faith deputed by Christ. He indeed 
acknowledged a leaning towards her practices and devotions : “I am, I 
confess, naturally inclined to that which misguided zeal terms supersti¬ 
tion,” *• I could never hear the Hail Mary bell without an elevation,”—but he 
went no farther. Sir Thomas is an exuberant writer, whose imagination 
seems to be inexhaustible. His extravagant use of Latin derivatives ren¬ 
ders him obscure, even unintelligible to readers unacquainted with Latin. 
It is nothing strange for him to use such words as exolution, ingression, 
gustation, adumbration, advenient, lapidiftcal, conglaciate, indigitate. 

Izaak Walton (1593-1683) obtained and has kept up his reputation of a 
classical writer by his popular work, The Complete Angler, written in simple, 
interesting prose. He wrote with the same felicity of style, the Life of 
Donne, Wotton, Hooker, George Herbert, and Bishop Sanderson. 

Thomas Otway (1651-1685) was a dramatist of great pathetic powers, but 
who squandered away mind and life in dissipation. Two of his tragedies 
have survived on the stage, The Orphan, which is objectionable in point of 
moral purity, and Venice Preserved. Otway is singularly affective, but has 
no breadth of thought nor great beauty of diction. 

Edmund Wali.br (1605-1687) had a very checkered life, as he passed alter¬ 
nately from the republican to the royalist, and from the royalist to the 
republican party. As a poet, he enjoyed the widest popularity, which con¬ 
tinued after his death for a hundred years. His poems, which were all 
written for special occasions, are short, polished, refined, but full of ex¬ 
travagant conceits. 


Section the Third, the Classical Age, 

1700-1800. 

The eighteenth century has been called the Classical 
Age, less on account of the refinement and polish of 
its writers than of their professed imitation of classic 
models. The best talents of the age busied themselves 
with the translation of the Greek and Latin authors. 
Ciiticism laid down rules for perfection in every 
branch of literature, while satire sought out and ex¬ 
posed every foible, every eccentricity, whether of pub- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


189 


lie society or private individuals. Not originality, but 
artificial correctness and brilliancy of diction, charac¬ 
terize this epoch. The reign of Queen Anne (1702- 
1714) was particularly distinguished, and, for a long 
time, was looked upon as superior to any other era of 
English literature; but this opinion has not been con¬ 
firmed. “ Speaking generally of that generation of 
authors, it may be said that, as poets, they had no 
force or greatness of fancy, no pathos, and no enthu¬ 
siasm; and, as philosophers, no comprehensiveness, 
depth, or originality. They are sagacious, no doubt, 
neat, clear, and reasonable; but, for the most part, 
cold, timid, and superficial.”* 

Under the first two Georges (1714-1760), we meet 
with some minor poems of great excellence, as the 
hardly surpassed lyrics of Collins and Gray, and some 
original productions, as Thomson's Seasons; yet, a 
spirit of servile imitation of Pope and Addison gener¬ 
ally prevails. 

During the reign of George III. (1760-1820), John¬ 
son for twenty years holds the dictatorial sway, while 
at his side, with more modest pretensions, Goldsmith 
writes simpler, but inimitable prose and exquisite poe¬ 
try. Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon, introduce History 
in a more brilliant garb than she had yet assumed be¬ 
fore the English public. At the same time, the Amer¬ 
ican War, by exciting the eloquence of Chatham and 
Burke, awakened the nation to a sense of justice which 
the government seemed not to comprehend. Before 
the end of the century, Cowper's graphic descriptions 
of English life and scenery began a reaction towards 
naturalness, which has developed in the nineteenth 
century. 


* Lord Jeffrey. 



190 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Joseph Addisok, 1672-1719. 

Joseph Addison, whom Macaulay styles the greatest 
of English essayists, was born at Milston in Wiltshire, 
in 1672. At the age of fifteen, he entered the Univer¬ 
sity of Oxford, and applied himself with such diligence 
to classical learning, that he acquired an elegant Latin 
style before he arrived at that age in which lads usually 
begin to write good English. In his twenty-second 
year, he addressed some verses to Dryden, which were 
highly praised by eminent judges. In 1699, he left 
England on a vibit to the classic soil of Italy; and, soon 
after his return, published his Travels in Italy , a work 
which, Dr. Johnson says, might have been written at 
home. Many parts of this work exhibit Addison as a 
vulgar bigot. His next composition was The Campaign , 
a poem in praise of the battle of Blenheim, written at 
the request of Treasurer Godolphin. It is still remem¬ 
bered for the passage in which he compares the victori¬ 
ous Marlborough to an angel guiding the whirlwind. 
The ministry, as a token of its satisfaction, appointed 
him Commissioner of Appeals. From this office he was 
afterwards called to others more important, and ulti¬ 
mately (1717) became one of His Majesty’s principal 
Secretaries of State. A new field of literature was 
meantime offered to Addison, in which he won a repu¬ 
tation that has never been surpassed. His friend, 
Richard Steele, had started, in 1709, the publication 
of The Tatler, which was soon after succeeded by The 
Spectator and The Guardian . Addison contributed 42 
essays to The Tatler , 274 to The Spectator , and 53 to 
The Guardian. His essays in The Spectator are marked 
with'one of the letters C. L. I. 0.; those in The Giiar- 
dian , by a hand. They may be ranged under the comic. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


191 


the serious, and the • critical. His humor is peculiar; 
his satire easy and delicate; and he is greatly to be 
commended for his endeavcr, as he himself says in No. 
10 of The Spectator, 4 to enliven morality with wit and 
to temper wit with morality/ But the two are so fre¬ 
quently in antagonism that it is difficult always to 
preserve the one without some sacrifice of the other, 
and few great wits even among divines have completely 
mastered this difficulty. His serious papers are distin¬ 
guished by beauty, propriety, and elegance of style. 

His tragedy of Cato, strictly classical in form, but 
stiff and cold, was represented in 1713 ; and, owing to 
party feelings, met, at the time, with extraordinary 
success. But it is now comparatively neglected, al¬ 
though abounding with noble sentiments. As a poet, 
Addison does not take the highest rank. One of his 
best pieces is his poetical Letter to Lord Halifax from 
Italy, in 1701. 44 Its versification,” says Dr. Drake, 

44 is remarkably sweet and polished; its vein of descrip¬ 
tion usually rich and clear, and its sentiments often 
pathetic, and sometimes even sublime.” 

The Evidences of Christianity, a prose work, was 
useful at the time, as recommending the subject by 
elegance and perspicuity to popular notice, but since 
superseded by more complete treatises. 

44 Perhaps no English writer,” says Allibone, 44 has 
been so fortunate as Addison in uniting so many dis¬ 
cordant tastes in a unanimous verdict of approbation. 
Browne has been thought pedantic, Johnson inflated, 
Taylor conceited, and Burke exuberant ; but the 
graceful simplicity of Addison delights alike the rude 
taste of the uneducated, and the classic judgment of 
the learned.” Dr. Johnson has pronounced the well- 
known verdict in his favor: 44 Whoever wishes to attain 
an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant, 


192 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to 
the volumes of Addison." 

In politics, earnest but not violent, he was respected 
by individuals of both parties. Serious and reserved 
in his manners, modest and even timid in society, he 
spoke little before strangers; but he was easy, fluent, 
and familiar, in the company of his friends: in his own 
words, “ he could draw bills for a thousand pounds, 
though he had not a guinea in his pocket." 

He had long been subject to asthma, and this, to¬ 
gether with a dropsical affection, soon made it evident 
that his hour of dissolution could not be far distant. 
The event, which he calmly anticipated, took place in 
Holland House, in 1719. 

THE VISION OF MIRZA. 

(From Spectator , No. CLIX.) 

When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Oriental 
manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others, I met 
with one entitled, The Vision of Mirza, which I have read over 
with pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have 
no other entertainment for them, and shall begin with the first 
vision, which I have translated word for word as follows: 

On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom 
of my forefathers, I always keep holy, after having washed 
myself, and offered up my mornfng devotions, I ascended the 
high hills of Bagdad, in order to pass the rest of the day in 
meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the 
tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on 
the vanity of human life; and, passing from one thought to 
another, surely, said I, man is but a shadow, and life a dream. 
Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit 
of a rock that was not far from me, where I discovered one in 
the habit of a shepherd, with a little musical instrument in his 
hands. As I looked upon him, he applied it to his lips, and 
began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceedingly sweet, 
and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly 
melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


193 


heard. They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are 
played to the departed souls of good men, upon their first ar¬ 
rival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last ago¬ 
nies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. 
My heart melted away in secret raptures. I had been often 
told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius, and 
that several had been entertained with music who had passed 
by it, but never heard that the musician had before made him¬ 
self visible. When he had raised my thoughts, by those trans¬ 
porting airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of his con¬ 
versation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beck¬ 
oned to me, and, by the waving of his hand, directed me to ap¬ 
proach the place where he sat. I drew near with that rever¬ 
ence which is due to a superior nature; and, as my heart was 
entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell 
down at his feet and wept. 

The genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and 
affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once 
dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I ap¬ 
proached him. He lifted me from the ground, and, taking me 
by the hand, “ Mirza,” said he, “ I have heard tliee in* thy so¬ 
liloquies; follow me.” 

He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and plac¬ 
ing me on the top of it, “ Cast thine eyes eastward,” said he, 
“and tell me what thou seest.” “I see,” said I, “a huge val¬ 
ley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it.” “ The 
valley that thou seest,” said he, “is the vale of misery, and 
the tide of water that thou seest, is part of the great tide of 
eternity.” “What is the reason,” said I, “that the tide I see 
rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a 
thick mist at the other ? ” “ What thou seest,” said he, “ is 

that portion of eternity which is called Time, measured out by 
the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its 
consummation. Examine now,” said he, “this sea that is 
bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou 
discoverest in it.” “ I see a bridge,” said I, “ standing in the 
midst of the tide.” “The bridge thou seest,” said he, “is 
Human Life; consider it attentively.” Upon a more leisurely 
survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten 
entire arches, with several broken arches, which, added to 
those that were entire, made up the number to about a hun¬ 
dred. As I was counting the arches, the genius told me that 
13 


194 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


this bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches, but that a 
great flood swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruin¬ 
ous condition I now beheld it. “But, tell me further,” said 
he, “ what thou discoverest on it.” “ I see multitudes of peo¬ 
ple passing over it,” said I, “ and a black cloud hanging on 
each end of it.” As I looked more attentively, I saw several 
of the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great 
tide that flowed underneath it; and, upon further examination, 
perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that lay con¬ 
cealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod 
upon, but they fell through them into the tide, and imme¬ 
diately disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick 
at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no 
sooner broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into 
them. They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied 
and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were 
entire. 

There were indeed some persons, but their number was very 
small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken 
arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired 
and speilt with so long a walk. 

I passed some , time in the contemplation of this wonderful 
structure, and the great variety of objects which it presented. 
My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several 
dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and 
catching at everything that stood by them, to save themselves. 
Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful 
posture, and, in the midst of a speculation, stumbled, and fell 
out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bub¬ 
bles that glittered in their eyes and danced before them; but 
of ten, when they thought themselves within the reach of them, 
their footing failed, and down they sank. In this confusion of 
objects, I observed some with scimitars in their hands, and 
others who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several 
persons on trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, 
and which they might have escaped, had they not been thus 
forced upon them. 

The genius, seeing me indulge myself on this melancholy 
prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it. “Take 
thine eyes off the bridge,” said he, “ and tell me if thou yet 
seest anything thou dost not comprehend.” Upon looking up, 
“ What mean,” said I, “those great flights of birds that are 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


195 


perpetually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it 
from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, 
and, among many other feathered creatures, several little 
winged hoys, that perch in great numbers upon the middle 
arches.” “These,” said the genius, “are Envy, Avarice, Su¬ 
perstition, Despair, Love, with the like cares and passions that 
infest Human Life.” 

I here fetched a deep sigh. “ Alas,” said I, “ man was made 
in vain!—how is he given away to misery and mortality!—tort¬ 
ured in life, and swallowed up in death!” The genius, being 
moved with compassion towards me, bade me quit so uncom¬ 
fortable a prospect. “ Look no more,” said he, “ on man in 
the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity, 
but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears 
the several generations of mortals that fall into it.” I directed 
my sight as I was ordered, and—whether or no the good genius 
strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part 
of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate 
—I saw the valley opening at the further end, and spreading 
forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant 
running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two 
equal parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch 
that I could discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to 
me a vast ocean planted with innumerable islands that were 
covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thou¬ 
sand little shining seas that ran among them. I could see per¬ 
sons dressed in glorious habits, with garlands upon their heads 
passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, 
or resting on beds of flowers, and could hear a confused har¬ 
mony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and mu¬ 
sical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of 
so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that 
I might fly away to those happy seats, but the genius told me 
there was no passage to them, except through the Gates of 
Death, that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. 
“The islands,” said he, “that lie so fresh and green before 
thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spot¬ 
ted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands 
on the sea-shore; there are myriads of islands behind those 
which thou here discoverest, reaching farther than thine eye, 
or even thine imagination, can extend itself. These are the 
mansions of good men after death, who according to the degree 


196 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed 
among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of 
different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfec¬ 
tions of those who are settled in them. Every island is a par¬ 
adise, accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not 
these, O Mirza! habitations worth contending for? Does life 
appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such 
a reward ? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so 
happy an existence ? Think not man was made in vain, who 
has such an eternity for him.” I gazed with inexpressible 
pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I: “Show me 
now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark 
clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of 
adamant ? ” The genius making me no answer, I turned about 
to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he 
had left me. I then turned again to the vision which I had 
been so long contemplating, but instead of the rolling tide, the 
arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the 
long hollow valley of Bagdad, with oxen, sheep, and camels 
grazing upon the sides of it. 

Sir Richard Steele, 1671-1729. 

Sir Richard Steele, whose name is inseparably linked 
with that of Addison, was born in Dublin of English 
parents. Placed at the Charter-house, London, by the 
patronage of the Duke of Ormond, he there made his 
first acquaintance with Addison, whose talent, diligence, 
and success he began to admire. Ear, however, from 
imitating the virtues of his friend, Steele contracted 
those habits of carelessness and improvidence which 
accompanied him through life. At Oxford, he did not 
exert himself for a degree. On leaving the University, 
he enlisted as private in the Horse Guards. This rash 
step cost him a fortune; for, a wealthy relative in Wex¬ 
ford, on this account, struck him out of his will. Soon 
the gay trooper obtained promotion, and ultimately be¬ 
came a captain in Lucas’s Fusiliers. The wild and dis¬ 
sipated life to which he then abandoned himself, was 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


197 


not without remorse. It was to satisfy his conscience 
that he wrote and published a devotional book. The 
Christian Hero , which he intended both as an expres¬ 
sion of his reform, and a means of effecting it; but, his 
change of conduct having become the sport of his 
brother officers, he soon again returned to his old hab¬ 
its. We next find him a dramatist. In 1702 and the 
two following years, he produced three comedies,— The 
Funeral, The Tender Husband , and The Lying Lover, 
—which had but little success. In 1709, during the 
war of the Spanish succession, his employment as Gaz¬ 
etteer suggested to him the idea of The Tatler , a tri¬ 
weekly paper, containing the last items of the news, and 
generally followed by an essay. Addison now associated 
himself with his old friend. The success of The Tat¬ 
ler, prepared the way for the greater success of The 
Spectator and The Guardian. Steele contributed 188 
papers to The Tatler, 240 to The Spectator, and 82 to 
The Guardian. The short essay was truly the ele¬ 
ment for the genius of both writers. Raciness of hu¬ 
mor, vivacity of tone, and purity of language, charac¬ 
terize these papers, which treat chiefly of literature and 
public manners. Steele loses somewhat from compar¬ 
ison with his partner. His essays, though teeming with 
originality and freshness, lack the finish and admir¬ 
able grace which mark those of Addison. Nature had 
done more for Steele: Addison’s steady application to 
his art more than compensated for his lesser gifts of 
genius. 

Steele mingled considerably in the politics of the 
times, became a member of Parliament, and wrote 
many pamphlets or articles in behalf of the Whig party. 
For one of these pamphlets, he was expelled from the 
House ; but George I. rewarded his zeal by the knight¬ 
hood and several lucrative appointments. His extrava- 


198 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


gance and dissipation, however, kept his purse empty. 
On one occasion, Addison, who had lent him £1000, 
sold his friend’s country-house at Hampton, and, after 
reimbursing himself, handed over the balance to Steele, 
who was glad to have some ready money to soothe the 
importunities of his creditors. The last literary work 
of Steele was The Conscious Lovers , a comedy, which 
was acted with great success in 1722. The remainder 
of his life was spent in Wales on a small estate, left him 
by indulgent creditors. Here he died of paralysis in 
1729. 

Steele was married twice. Some four hundred let¬ 
ters, written to his second wife, are still extant. They 
are full of wit and amiability, and do not hide the 
weaknesses of their gifted author. “ Steele,” says Alli- 
bone, “ was one of the most amiable and improvident 
of men. . . . Often sinning, often repenting, always 
good-natured, and generally in debt, he multiplied 
troubles as few men will, and bore them better than 
most men can.” 


STORY-TELLING. 

I have often thought that a story-teller is horn, as well as a 
poet. It is, I think, certain that some men have such a pecu¬ 
liar cast of mind, that they see things in another light than 
men of grave dispositions. Men of a lively imagination and a 
mirthful temper, will represent things to their hearers in the 
same manner as they themselves were affected with them; and 
whereas serious spirits might perhaps have been disgusted at 
the sight of some odd occurrences in life, yet the very same oc¬ 
currences shall please them in a well-told story, where the disa¬ 
greeable parts of the images are concealed, and those only 
which are pleasing exhibited to the fancy. Story-telling is 
therefore not an art, but what we call a ‘ knack; ’ it does not 
so much subsist upon wit as upon humor; and I will add that 
it is not perfect without proper gesticulations of the body, 
which naturally attend such merry emotions of the mind. I 
know very well that a certain gravity of countenance sets some 


TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


199 


stories off to advantage, where the hearer is to be surprised in 
the end. But this is by no means a general rule; for it is fre¬ 
quently convenient to aid and assist by cheerful looks and 
whimsical agitations. I will go yet further, and affirm that 
the success of a story very often depends upon the make of the 
body, and the formation of the features, of him who relates it. 
I have been of this opinion ever since I criticised upon the 
chin of Dick Dewlap. I very often had the weakness to repine 
at the prosperity of his conceits, which made him pass for a 
wit with the widow at the coffee-house, and the ordinary me¬ 
chanics that frequent it; nor could I myself forbear laughing 
at them most heartily, though, upon examination, I thought 
most of them very flat and insipid. I found, after some time, 
that the merit of his wit was founded upon the shaking of a 
fat paunch, and the tossing-up of a pair of rosy jowls. Poor 
Dick had a fit of sickness, which robbed him of his fat and 
his fame at once; and it was full three months before he 
regained his reputation, which rose in proportion to liis flo- 
ridity. He is now very jolly and ingenious, and hath a good 
constitution for wit. 

Those who are thus adorned with the gifts of nature, are 
apt to show their parts with too much ostentation. I would 
therefore advise all the professors of this art never to tell sto¬ 
ries but as they seem to grow out of the subject-matter of the 
conversation, or as they serve to illustrate or enliven it. Sto¬ 
ries that are very common are generally irksome, but may be 
aptly introduced, provided they be only hinted at and men¬ 
tioned by way of allusion. Those that are altogether new, 
should never be ushered in without a short and pertinent 
character of the chief persons concerned, because, by that 
means, you may make the company acquainted with them; 
and it is a certain rule, that slight and trivial accounts of those 
who are familiar to us, administer more mirth, than the bright¬ 
est points of wit in unknown characters. A little circumstance 
in the complexion or dress of the man you are talking of, sets 
his image before the hearer, if it be chosen aptly for the story. 
Thus, I remember Tom Lizard, after having made his sisters 
merry with an account of a formal old man’s way of compli¬ 
menting, owned very frankly that his story would not have 
been worth one farthing, if he had made the hat of him whom 
he represented one inch narrower. Besides the marking dis¬ 
tinct characters and selecting pertinent circumstances, it is 


200 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


likewise necessary to leave off in time, and end smartly; so 
that there is a kind of drama in the forming of a story; and 
the manner of conducting and pointing it is the same as in an 
epigram. It is a miserable thing, after one hath raised the ex¬ 
pectation of the company hy humorous characters and a pretty 
conceit, to pursue the matter too far. There is no retreating; 
and how poor it is for a story-teller to end his relation hy say¬ 
ing, “ That’s all! ” 

As the choosing of pertinent circumstances is the life of a 
story, and that wherein humor principally consists, so the col¬ 
lectors of impertinent particulars are the very bane and opiates 
of conversation. Old men are great transgressors this way. Poor 
Ned Poppy—he’s gone!—was a very honest man, hut was so 
excessively tedious over his pipe, that he was not to be en¬ 
dured. He knew so exactly what they had for dinner, when 
such a thing happened, in what ditch his bay horse had his 
sprain at that time, and how his man John—no, it was William 
—started a hare in the common field, that he never got to the 
end of his tale. 

But of all evils in story-telling, the humor of telling tiles 
one after another in great numbers, is the least supportable. 
Sir Harry Pandolf and his son gave my Lady Lizard great of¬ 
fence in this particular. Sir Harry hath what they call a string 
of stories, which he tells over every Christmas. When our fam¬ 
ily visits there, we are constantly, after supper, entertained 
with the Glastonbury Thorn. When we have wondered at that 
a little, “Ay, but father,” saith the son, “let us have the 
Spirit in the Wood.” After that hath been laughed at, “ Ay, 
but father,” cries the booby again, “tell us how you served 
the robber.” “ Alack-a-day,” saith Sir Harry, with a smile, 
and rubbing his forehead, “ I have almost forgot that, but it is 
a pleasant conceit to be sure.” Accordingly he tells that and 
twenty more in the same independent order, and without the 
least variation, at this day, as he hath done to my knowledge 
ever since the Revolution. . . . 

I likewise have a poor opinion of those who have got a trick 
of keeping a steady countenance, that cock their hats and look 
glum when a pleasant thing is said, and ask, “Well, and what 
then ?” Men of wit and parts should treat one another with 
benevolence; and I will lay it down as a maxim, that if you 
seem to have a good opinion of another man’s wit, he will 
allow you to have judgment. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


201 


LETTER OF STEELE TO HIS WIFE. 

Hampton Court, March 16, 1717 . 

Dear Prue: If you have written anything to me which I 
should have received last night, I beg your pardon that I can¬ 
not answer it till the next post. The House of Commons will 
be very busy the next week; and I had many things, public 
and piivate, for which I wanted four-and-twenty hours’ re¬ 
tirement, and therefore came to visit your son. I came out of 
town yesterday, being Friday, and shall return to-morrow. 
Your son, at the present writing, is mighty well employed, 
tumbling on the floor of the room, and sweeping the sand with 
a feather. lie grows a most delightful child, and very full of 
play and spirit. He is also a very great scholar: he can read his 
primer, and I have brought down my Virgil. He makes most 
shrewd remarks upon the pictures. We are very intimate 
friends and playfellows. He begins to be very ragged, and 1 
hope I shall be pardoned, if I equip him with new clothes and 
frock, or what Mrs. Evans and I shall think for his service. 

I am, dear Prue, ever yours, 

Richard Steele. 

Daniel Defoe, 1661-1731. 

Daniel Defoe, a writer of great ingenuity and fertil¬ 
ity of invention, considered by some as the founder of 
the English novel, was born in London in 1661. His 
father’s name was simply Foe. He was educated for 
the ministry in a dissenting sect ; but embraced a mer¬ 
cantile career. We find him successively hosier, tile- 
maker, woollen merchant, and political pamphleteer. 
In 1702, the publication of The Shortest Way with the 
Dissenters, a piece of irony, which the government un¬ 
derstood in its literal meaning, occasioned his imprison¬ 
ment in Newgate for two years. Whilst in jail, he pub¬ 
lished a periodical called The Review, which is. supposed 
to have given Steele the hint for his Tatler. When fifty- 
five years of age, he published his first prose fiction, 
Robinson Crusoe, which met with extraordinary success. 


202 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


This was soon followed by a number of other lives and 
adventures, among which may be mentioned The Dumb 
Philosopher, Memoirs of a Cavalier, Captain Singleton, 
Duncan Campbell, Colonel Jack, and the Journal of the 
Plague in 1665. He wrote in all two hundred and ten 
books and pamphlets. 

His Robinson Crusoe is not only the first, in the order 
of time, of that class of works in our language; but 
to this day remains unrivalled in many important par¬ 
ticulars. Johnson has said of it, “Nobody ever laid it 
down, without wishing it were longer.” Defoe had a 
perfect mastery of the art of invention, an almost un¬ 
bounded power in creating incidents and situations. 
His minute and circumstantial details, combined with 
their entire naturalness, cheat the reader into a belief 
of the reality and truth of what he reads. In this 
power of feigning reality, or, as Sir Walter Scott terms 
it, of “ forging the handwriting of nature,” he has 
never been surpassed. Nor is the author’s idiomatic 
style the smallest of his merits. 

Defoe is not what we would call a very moral writer. 
He seems to delight in describing vicious characters 
and lawless adventurers. Macaulay, who had, it is true, 
a peculiar dislike of him, says that “ some of his tracts 
are worse than immoral; quite beastly.” As in most 
Protestant writers, so in Defoe, the hatred and utter 
ignorance of Catholic doctrine and practices, are sure to 
find their way on every occasion and without occasion. 

After repeated struggles with want and disease, this 
voluminous writer closed a long and agitated existence 
in 1731. “I have, some time ago,” says he of himself, 
“summed up the scenes of my life in this distich: 

No man has tasted differing fortunes more; 

And thirteen times I have been rich and poor.’ , 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


203 


THE PLAGUE AT BLACIOVALL. 

(From the Journal of the Plague.) 

Much about the same time, I walked out into the fields tow¬ 
ards Bow, for I had a great mind to see how things were man¬ 
aged in the river, and among the ships; and, as I had some 
. concern in shipping, I had a notion that it had been one of the 
best ways of securing one’s self from the infection, to have re¬ 
tired into a ship; and, musing howto satisfy my curiosity in 
that point, I turned away over the fields, from Bow to Bromley, 
and down to Blackwall, to the stairs that are there for landing, 
or taking water. 

Here I saw a poor man walking on the bank or sea-wall, as 
they call it, by himself. I walked awhile also about, seeing 
the houses all shut up; at last I fell into some talk, at a dis¬ 
tance, with this poor man. First, I asked him how people 
did thereabouts? Alas! sir, says he, almost desolate; all dead 
or sick: here are very few families in this part, or in that vil¬ 
lage, pointing at Poplar, where half of them are not dead al¬ 
ready, and the rest sick. Then pointing to one house, there 
they are all dead, said he, and the house stands open; nobody 
dares go into that. A poor thief, says he, ventured in to steal 
something, but he paid dear for his theft, for he was carried 
to the churcli-yard too, last night. Then he pointed to several 
other houses. There, says he, they are all dead, the man, and 
his wife, and five children. There, says he, they are shut up; 
you see a watchman at the door, and so of other houses. Why, 
said I, what do you do here all alone? Why, says he, I am a 
poor desolate man; it hath pleased God I am not yet visited, 
though my family is, and one of my children dead. How do 
you mean then, said I, that you are not visited? Why, says he, 
that is my house, pointing to a very little, low, boarded house, 
and there my wife and two poor children live, said he, if they 
may be said to live; for my wife and one of my children are 
visited, but I do not come at them. And with that word I 
saw the tears run very plentifully down his face; and so they 
did down mine too, I assure you. 

But, said I, why do you not come at them? How can you 
abandon your own flesh and blood? Oh, sir, says he, the Lord 
forbid; I do not abandon them; I work for them as much as 
I am able; and, blessed be the Lord, I keep them from want. 
And with that I observed he lifted up his eyes to heaven, with 
a countenance that presently told me I had happened on a man 


204 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


that was no hypocrite, but a serious, religious, good man; and 
his ejaculation was an expression of thankfulness, that, in such 
a condition as he was in, he should be able to say his family 
did not want. Well, said I, honest man, that is a great mercy, 
as things go now with the poor. But how do you live then, 
and how are you kept from the dreadful calamity that is now 
upon us all? Why, sir, says he, I am a waterman, and there is 
my boat, says he, and the boat serves me for a house; I work 
in it in the day, and I sleep in it in the night, and what I get 
I lay it down upon that stone, says he, showing me a broad 
stone on the other side of the street, a good way from his 
house; and then, says he, I halloo and call to them till I make 
them hear, and they come and fetch it. 

Well, friend, said I, but how can you get money as a water¬ 
man ? Does anybody go by water these times ? Yes, sir, says 
he, in the way I am employed, there does. Do you see there, 
says he, five ships lie at anchor ? pointing down the river a 
good way below the town; and do you see, says he, eight or 
ten ships lie at the chain there, and at anchor yonder ? point¬ 
ing above the town. All those ships have families on board, 
of their merchants and owners, and such like, who have locked 
themselves up, and live on board, close shut in, for fear of the 
infection; and I tend on them to fetch things for them, carry 
letters, and do what is absolutely necessary, that they may not 
be obliged to come on shore; and every night I fasten my boat 
on board one of the ship’s boats, and there I sleep by myself; 

and blessed be God I am preserved hitherto.Here he 

stopt, and wept very much. 

Well, honest friend, said I, thou hast a sure comforter, if 
thou hast brought thyself to be resigned to the will of God; 
he is dealing with us all in judgment. 

Oh, sir, says he, it is infinite mercy if any of us are spared; 
and who am I, to repine ? 

ROBINSON CRUSOE DISCOVERS THE FOOTPRINT. 

It happened one day about noon, going towards my boat, I 
was exceedingly surprised with the print of a man’s naked foot 
on the shore, which was very plain to be seen in the sand: I 
stood like one thunderstruck, or as if I had seen an appari¬ 
tion; I listened, I looked around me, I could hear nothing, nor 
see anything; I went up to a rising ground to look farther; I 
went up the shore and down the shore, but it was all one, I 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


205 


could see no other impression but that one: I went to it again 
to see if there were any more, and to observe if it might not 
be my fancy; but there was no room for that, for there was ex¬ 
actly the very print of a foot, toes, heel, and every part of a 
foot. How it came thither I knew not, nor could in the least 
imagine. But after innumerable fluttering thoughts, like a 
man perfectly confused, and out of myself, I came home to my 
fortification, not feeling, as we say, the ground I went on, but 
terrified to the last degree, looking behind me at every two or 
three steps, mistaking every bush and tree, and fancying every 
stump at a distance to be a man; nor is it possible to describe 
how many various shapes an affrighted imagination represented 
things to me in; how many wild ideas were formed every mo¬ 
ment jn my fancy, and what strange, unaccountable whimsies 
came into my thoughts by the way. 

When I came to my castle, for sol think I called it ever after 
this, I fled into it like one pursued; whether I went over by 
the ladder, at first contrived, or went in at the hole in the rock, 
which I called a door. I cannot remember; for never frighted 
hare fled to cover, or fox to earth, with more terror of mind 
than I to this retreat. 

How strange a checker-work of Providence is the life of 
man! And by what secret differing springs are the affections 
hurried about, as differing circumstances permit! To-day we 
love what to-morrow we hate; to-day we seek what to-morrow 
we shun; to-day we desire what to-morrow we fear; nay, even 
tremble at the apprehensions of. This was exemplified in me 
at this time in the most lively manner imaginable; for I, whose 
only affliction was, that I seemed, banished from human soci¬ 
ety, that I was alone, circumscribed by the boundless ocean, 
cut off from mankind, and condemned to what I call a silent 
life; that I was as one whom Heaven thought not worthy to be 
numbered among the living, or to appear among the rest of 
his creatures; that to have seen one of my own species would 
have seemed to me a raising me from death to life, and the 
greatest blessing that Heaven itself, next to the supreme bless¬ 
ing of salvation, could bestow; I say, that I should now trem¬ 
ble at the very apprehensions of seeing a man, and was ready 
to sink into the ground, at but the shadow, or silent appear¬ 
ance of a man’s having set his foot on the island! . . . 

However, as I went down thus two or three days, and hav¬ 
ing seen nothing, I began to be a little bolder, and to think 


206 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


there was really nothing in it hut my own imagination. But I 
could not persuade myself fully of this, till I should go down 
to the shore again, and see this print of a foot, and measure it 
by my own, and see if there was any similitude or fitness, that 
I might be assured it was my own foot. But when 1 came to 
the place first, it appeared evidently to me, that when I laid 
up my boat, I could not possibly he on shore anywhere there¬ 
abouts. Secondly, when I came to measure the mark with my 
own foot, I found my foot not so large by a great deal. Both 
these things* filled my head with new imaginations, and gave 
me the vapors again to the highest degree; so that I shook 
with cold, like one in an ague; and I went home again, filled 
with the belief, that some man or men had been on shore 
there; or, in short, that the island was inhabited, and I plight 
be surprised before I was aware; and what course to take for 
my security, I knew not. Oh! what ridiculous resolutions 
men take, when possessed with fear! It deprives them of the 
use of those means which reason offers for their relief. 

Alexander Pope, 1688-1744. 

The chief representative name in the literature of 
Queen Anne's time, is that of Alexander Pope. He 
was born in London of Roman Catholic parents, in 
1688. His early education, on account of his feeble 
frame and delicate constitution, was chiefly domestic ; 
and he was placed, at the age of eight years, under the 
care of a Catholic priest, from whom he learned the 
rudiments of Latin and Creek. At a very early period, 
he manifested the greatest fondness for poetry. Whilst 
at the school at Hyde Park Corner, he formed a play 
taken from Ogilby's Homer, intermixed with verses of 
his own ; and had it acted by his schoolfellows. About 
his twelfth year, he was taken home and privately in¬ 
structed by another priest who lived in the neighbor¬ 
hood. To this period is assigned his Ode on Solitude. 
He himself says : 

As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, 

I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERICtf). 


207 


Subsequently he appears to have been the director of 
his own studies, and to have continued them persever- 
ingly with little assistance from others. At the age of 
sixteen, he wrote his Pastorals, remarkable for their 
correct and musical versification, and more remarkable 
still for the Discourse on Pastoral Poetry which intro¬ 
duces them. In 1711, appeared his Essay on Criticism, 
in which we find to an eminent degree combined sound 
principles of taste, terseness of expression, beauty of il¬ 
lustration, and poetical harmony. Two years later, he 
published The Rape of the Lock, the most imaginative 
of his works, the best specimen extant of mock-heroic 
or miniature epic poetry. The object of the poem was 
to reconcile two families estranged by the theft of a 
lady’s lock. At the same period, when he was twenty- 
five years of age, he issued proposals for the Translation 
of the Iliad, a work which was accomplished in five 
years, and whose great and signal merits justly elicited 
the warmest eulogiums from the literary world. “ But 
in the most general applause,” says Dr. Johnson, “ dis¬ 
cordant voices will always be heard. It has been ob¬ 
jected that Pope’s version of Homer is not Homerical. 
In estimating this translation, consideration must be 
had of the nature of our language, the form of our 
metre, and, above all, of the change which two thousand 
years have made in the modes of life, and the habits of 
thought. It will be found, in the progress of learning, 
that in all nations the first writers are simple, and that 
every age improves its elegance. One refinement al¬ 
ways makes way for another ; and what was expedient 
to Virgil, was necessary to Pope. Pope wrote for his 
own age and his own nation.” In spite of adverse criticism, 
the fact remains that, of all English translations of Homer, 
the most extensively read and quoted is that of Alexander 
Pope. 


208 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Among the poet’s later works were his Satires and 
Epistles in imitation of Horace. In the Dunciad , or 
epic of dunces, the tribe of more or less obscure writers 
that had assailed the sensitive poet are put one by one 
in the pillory of public scorn, and doomed there to unen¬ 
viable immortality. In the opinion of Ruskin, “ the Dun¬ 
ciad is the most absolutely chiselled and monumental work 
exacted in our country.” The Essay on Man (1733), the 
most lofty of his poems, pretends to vindicate the ways 
of Providence in the government of this world, but 
it makes God the author of moral evil, and takes away 
human responsibility ; yet it contains many striking 
passages, which, for their mingled felicity of diction 
and energetic brevity, will always have a place in the 
memory of every English scholar. In the Essay, and 
some others of Pope’s writings, many think that they 
perceive the overshadowing and malignant influence of 
the friendship of Lord Bolingbroke, one of the leading 
deistical writers of the eighteenth century. The most 
noted of his poems not already mentioned, are Messiah, 
Windsor Forest, Moral Essays, and Miscellanies. The- 
Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, and the tale of January 
and May, adapted from Chaucer, are directly offensive 
to morals. Pope’s Letters, and Preface to his edition 
of Shakespeare, are models of English prose. 

The rank of Pope as a poet has been a subject of 
much dispute. In sublimity, imagination, and pathos, 
he cannot enter into comparison with Spenser, Shakes¬ 
peare, Milton; and, when compared with Dryden, the 
mind hesitates in the allotment of superiority. With¬ 
out contest, he is the most brilliant and accomplished 
of what are called artificial poets. Shakespeare alone 
excepted, no other English poet has supplied us with 
so many lines for apt and happy quotation. Pope was 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


209 


an ethical and satiric poet; but ethical and satirical poetry 
was what his age needed, and in that order of poetry he is 
a classic. His place in English poetry is in fact assured. 
Taking up the work that Dryden had begun, he saved 
poetry from the swamps in which it was sinking from a too 
conservative attachment to an obsolete idea of nature and 
to effete modes of composition.* 

His private character was not without faults ; but 
they have been generally exposed with too much sever¬ 
ity. The most unfavorable of his critics must admit 
that ‘ he was a most dutiful and affectionate son, a kind 
master, a sincere friend, and generally speaking a benev¬ 
olent man.f Dr. Johnson says of the first-mentioned 
beautiful trait in his character : “ The filial piety of 
Pope was in the highest degree amiable and exemplary. 
His parents had the happiness of living till he was at 
the summit of poetical reputation, at ease in his fort¬ 
une, and without a rival in his fame ; and found no 
diminution of his respect or tenderness.” What is 
more touching than the following testimony of his de¬ 
voted care ? 

Me, let the tender office long engage, 

To rock the cradle of reposing age; 

With lenient arts extend a mother’s breath, 

Make languor smile, and soothe the bed of death; 
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, 

And keep at least one parent from the sky. 

Pope’s life was ‘ one long disease.’ During his last 
five years, he was afflicted with asthma and other disor¬ 
ders, which his physicians were unable to relieve. A 
short time before his death, he complained of his ina¬ 
bility to think, yet said, “I am so certain of the soul 


14 


* W. J. Courthope, in Dubl. Rev., Jan, 1894. 
f Rev. William Lisle Bowie. 




210 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


being immortal, that I seem to feel it within me, as it 
were by intuition.” If he had been but too neglectful 
of the duties of his religion in his life-time, such was 
his fervor in the last hour, that he exerted all his 
strength to throw himself out of bed, in order to re¬ 
ceive the last sacraments kneeling on the floor. He 
calmly expired in May, 1744. 

ODE ON SOLITUDE. 

Happy the man whose wish and care 
A few paternal acres bound, 

Content to breathe his native air 
In his own ground: 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 

Whose flocks supply him with attire— 

Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 

In winter, fire. 

Blessed who can unconcernedly find 

Hours, days, and years glide soft away, 

In health of body, peace of mind; 

Quiet by day— 

Sound sleep by night; study and ease 
Together mixed; sweet recreation; 

And innocence which most does please 
With meditation. 


Thus let me live unseen, unknown— 
Thus unlamented let me die; 

Steal from tl.e world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie. 


PRIDE. 

(From Essay on Criticism , Part II.) 

Of all the causes which conspire to blind 
Man’s erring judgment, and misguide the mind, 
What the weak head with strongest bia$ rules, 
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. 


TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


211 


Whatever Nature lias in worth denied, 

She gives in large recruits of needful Pride! 

For as in bodies, thus in souls we find 

What wants in blood and spirits, swelled with wind: 

Pride, where Wit fails, steps in to our defence, 

And fills up all the mighty void of sense. 

If once right reason drives that cloud away, 

Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. 

Trust not yourself; but, your defects to know, 

Make use of every friend—and every foe. 

A little learning is a dangerous thing! 

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: 

There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, 

And drinking largely sobers us again. 

Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts, 

In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts, 
While, from the bounded level of our mind, 

Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; 

But more advanced, behold with strange surprise 
New distant scenes of endless science rise: 

So pleased, at first, the towering Alps we try, 

Mount o’er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; 

The eternal snows appear already past, 

And the first clouds and mountains seem the last: 
But, those attained, we tremble to survey 
The growing labors of the lengthen’d way; 

The increasing prospect tries our wandering eyes, 
Hills peep o’er hills, and Alps on Alps arise. 

(From Essay on Criticism , Part III.) 

Learn then what moral critics ought to show, 

For ’tis but half a judge’s task to know. 

’Tis not enough taste, judgment, learning join, 

In all you speak, let truth and candor shine; 

That not alone what to your sense is due 
All may allow, but seek your friendship too. 

Be always silent when you doubt your sense, 

And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence. 
Some positive persisting fools we know, 

Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so; 

But you with pleasure own your errors past, 

And make each day a critic on the last. 


212 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


’Tis not enough, your counsel still be true, 

Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do. 

Men must be taught as if you taught them not, 

And things unknown proposed as things forgot. 

Without good breeding, truth is disapproved; 

That only makes superior sense beloved. 

Be niggards of advice on no pretence, 

For the worst avarice is that of sense. 

With mean complacence ne’er betray your trust- 
Nor be so civil as to prove unjust. 

Fear not the anger of the wise to raise: 

Those best can bear reproof who merit praise. 

THE DUTY OF MAN TO BE CONTENT WITH THE RANK WHICH 
HE HOLDS IN CREATION. 

(From Essay on Man , Ep. I.) 

. . . . On superior powers 

Were we to press, inferior might on ours; 

Or in the full creation leave a void, 

Where, one step broken, the great scale’s destroyed: 

From Nature’s chain whatever link you strike, 

Tenth, or ten-thousandth, breaks the chain alike. 

What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread, 

Or hand to toil, aspired to be the head? 

What if the head, the eye, or ear repined 
To serve mere engines to the ruling mind? 

Just as absurd for any part to claim 
To be another in this general frame: 

Just as absurd to mourn the tasks, or pains, 

The great directing Mind of all ordains. 

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 

Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; 

That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, 

Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame, 

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 

Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees; 

Lives through all life, extends through all extent, 

Spreads undivided, operates unspent; 

Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 

As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; 

As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, 

As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


213 


To him no high, no low, no great, no small; 

He tills, he bounds, connects, and equals all! 

Cease then, nor order imperfection name; 

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree 
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. 
Submit—in this or any other sphere, 

Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear; 

Safe in the hand of one disposing Power, 

Or in the natal or the mortal hour. 

All nature is but art unknown to thee; 

All chance direction, which thou canst not see; 
All discord, harmony not understood; 

All partial evil, universal good: 

And spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite, 

One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right. 

SATIRIC SKETCH OF ADDISON. 

(From the Prologue to the Satires.) 

Peace to all such !* but were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; 

Blessed with each talent, and each art to please, 
And born to write, converse, and live with ease; 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,• 

Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, 
View him with scornful yet with jealous eyes, 

And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; 

Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 

And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 

Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; 

Alike reserved to blame or to commend, 

A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; 

Dreading e’en fools, by flatterers besieged, 

And so obliging that he ne’er obliged; 

Like Cato, give his little senate laws, 

And sit attentive to his own applause ; 

While wits and templars every sentence raise, 

And wonder with a foolish face of praise— 

Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? 

Who would not weep, if Atticusf were he? 

* I. e. to inferior writers. f Addison. 




214 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


DETACHED PASSAGES. 

J Tis with oar judgments as our watches; none 
Go just alike, yet each believes his own. 

. Essay on Criticism, line 10. 


True wit is nature to advantage dressed, 

What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed. 

Ib. 297. 

Words are like leaves: and where they most abound, 
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. 

Ib. 310. 

Envy will Merit, as its shade, pursue; 

But, like a shadow, prove the substance true. 

Ib. 467. 

Good nature and good sense must ever join; 

To err is human, to forgive, Divine. 

Ib. 524. 

O death, all eloquent! You only prove 

What dust we doat on, when ’tis man we love. 



Eloisa to Abelard. 


For virtue only makes our bliss below; 

And all our knowledge is, ourselves to know. 

Essay on Man, iv. 397. 

’Tis education f 014 ns the common mind, 

And as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined. 

Moral Essays, ep. i. 150. 

Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, 

Will never mark the marble with his name. lb. iii. 286. 


Jonathan Swift, 1667-1745. 

Jonathan Swift, more commonly known as Dean 
Swift, whom Voltaire styles the English Rabelais, was 
born in Dublin, in 1667. In his academical studies, he 
was either not diligent, or not happy. At Trinity Col¬ 
lege, it was only through special favor that he received 
the degree of Bachelor of Arts. To repair the humilia¬ 
tion, he resolved to study eight hours a day, and he 
continued his industry for seven years. 

In 1704 was published anonymously his celebrated 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


215 


Tale of a Tub, the wildest and coarsest of polemical 
works. It was designed, as a burlesque and satire, to 
throw ridicule upon the Catholics, Lutherans, and 
Presbyterians, and to gam influence for the High 
Church party ; but it plainly shows ‘that Swift, though 
a clergyman, was a cynic and materialist, and utterly 
scouted all religion in his secret heart/ * The Battle 
of the Boohs, appended to the Tale of a Tub, is a bur¬ 
lesque comparison between ancient and modern authors, 
in which he exercises his satire against Dryden and 
Bentley. 

In 1713, he was rewarded with the Deanery of St. 
Patrick’s in Dublin, for his political services to the 
Queen’s ministry. Swift was at first disliked in Ire¬ 
land ; but his celebrated Letters under the name of M. 
B. Drapier, in which he ably exposed the job of Wood’s 
patent for supplying Ireland with a copper coinage, 
and other writings, gave him unbounded popularity. 
It was about this time that he composed his famous 
Gulliver’s Travels, the most original of his productions. 
It appeared in 1726, exhibiting a singular union of mis¬ 
anthropy, satire, irony, ingenuity, and humor, not un- 
frequently deviating into unpardonable grossness and 
revolting obscenity. It is really a political pamphlet, 
and contains many satirical allusions to the great con¬ 
tending parties of the state ; though most of the read¬ 
ers feel only the fascination of the story. 

In the latter part of his life, lie published another 
burlesque on the frivolities of fashionable life, entitled 
Polite Conversation. His most important political 
tracts were The Conduct of the Allies, The Public Spirit 
of the Whigs, and the History of the Four Last Years 
of Queen Anne. As a writer, his style offers a good 


* Thomas Arnold, Manual of Eng. Lit. 



216 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


example of the easy familiarity that the language af¬ 
fords; but, admirable as it is for its pureness, clear¬ 
ness, and simplicity, it exhibits none of the glow of 
genius. 

“His poetical works," says Dr. Johnson, “are often 
humorous, almost always light; and have the cpialities 
which recommend such compositions, easiness and 
gayety. The diction is correct, the numbers smooth, 
and the rhymes exact. There seldom occurs a hard- 
labored expression, or a redundant epithet; all his 
verses exemplify his own definition of a good style, 
‘ proper words in proper places/" “Half of the bad 
writing of the age," says Angus, “ is owing to the fact 
that men have not possessed themselves of what they 
wish to say ; and the other half, to their desire to say 
it finely and eloquently. Both these evils Swift 
avoids." 

In 1736, he had an attack of deafness and giddiness. 
The fate, which owing to his constitutional infirmities 
he had always feared, at length reached him. Indeed, 
madness or predisposition to madness seemed to be a 
part and parcel of the man, and possibly an element of 
his genius. The faculties of his mind decayed before 
his body, and the gradual decay settled into absolute 
idiocy, early in 1742. When he determined to be¬ 
queath his fortune to build a hospital for lunatics and 
idiots, he must have been sad at heart, although he 
gayly wrote that he did so merely 

To show by one satiric touch, 

No nation wanted it so much. 


VERSES ON ms OWN DEATH. 

The time is not remote when I 
Must by the course of nature die: 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


21 


When, I foresee, my special friends 
Will try to find their private ends: 

And, though ’tis hardly understood, 
Which way my death can do them good, 
Yet thus, me thinks, I hear them speak: 
See, how the dean begins to break! 

Poor gentleman! he droops apaee! 

You plainly find it in his face, 

That old vertigo in his head 
Will never leave him, till he’s dead. 
Besides, his memory decays: 

He recollects not what he says; 

He cannot call his friends to mind; 
Forgets the place where last he dined, 
Plies you with stories o’er and o’er; 

He told them fifty times before. 

How does he fancy we can sit 
To hear his out-of-fashion wit ? 

Behold the fatal day arrive! 

How is the dean ? he’s just alive. 

Now the departing prayer is read; 

He hardly breathes. The dean is dead. 
Before the passing-bell begun, 

The news through half the town has run. 
Oh! may we all for death prepare! 

What has he left ? and who’s his heir ? 

I know no more than what the news is, 
’Tis all bequeathed to public uses. 

To public uses! there’s a whim! 

What had the public done for him ? 

Mere envy, avarice, and pride: 

He gave it all—but first he died. 

And had the dean in all the nation 
No worthy friend, no poor relation ? 

So ready to do strangers good, 

Forgetting his own flesh and blood! 

Here shift the scene, to represent 
How those I love my death lament. 

Poor Pope will grieve a month, and (jay 
A week, and Arbuthnot a day. 


218 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


St. John himself will scarce forbear 
To bite his pen, and drop a tear. 

The rest will give a shrug, and cry, 

“ I’m sorry—hut we all must die! ” 

Indifference clad in wisdom’s guise, 

All fortitude of mind supplies; 

For how can stony bowels melt 
In those who never pity felt ? 

When we are lashed, they kiss the rod, 

Resigning to the will of God. 

Suppose me dead; and then suppose 
. A club assembled at the Rose, 

Where, from discourse of this or that 
I grow the subject of their chat. 

“ Alas, poor dean! his only scope 
Was to be held a misanthrope. 

This into general odium drew him, 

Which, if he liked, much good may’t do him. 

His zeal was not to lash our crimes, 

But discontent against the times: 

For, had we made him timely offers, 

To raise his post, or fill his coffers, 

Perhaps he might have truckled down, 

Like other brethren of his gown. 

For party he would scarce have bled: 

I say no more—because lie’s dead. 

He gave the little wealth he had 
To build a house for fools and mad; 

To show, by one satiric touch, 

No nation wanted it so much. 

That kingdom he lias left his debtor; 

I wish it soon may have a better, 

And, since you dread no further lashes, 

Methinks you may forgive his ashes.” 

GULLIVER IS CARRIED UP THE COUNTRY OF LILLIPITT. 

These people (the Lilliputians) are most excellent mathema¬ 
ticians, and arrived to a great perfection in mechanics, by the 
countenance and encouragement of the emperor, who is a re- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


219 


nowned patron of learning. This prince has several machines 
fixed on wheels, for the carriage of trees and other great 
weights. He often builds his largest men-of-war, whereof 
some are nine feet long, in the woods where the timber grows, 
and lias them carried on these engines three or four hundred 
yards to the sea. Five hundred carpenters and engineers were 
immediately set at work to prepare the greatest engine they 
had. It was a frame of wood raised three inches from the 
ground, about seven feet long, and four wide, moving upon 
twenty-two wheels. The shout I heard was upon the arrival 
of this engine, which, it seems, set out in four hours after my 
landing. It was brought parallel to me as I lay. But the prin¬ 
cipal difficulty was to raise and place me in this vehicle. 
Eighty poles, each one foot high, were erected for this pur¬ 
pose, and very strong cords, of the bigness of pack-thread, 
were fastened by hooks to many bandages, which the work¬ 
men had gilt round my neck, my hands, my body, and my 
legs. Nine hundred of the strongest men were employed to 
draw up these cords, by many pulleys fastened on the poles; 
and thus, in less than three hours, I was raised and slung into 
the engine, and there tied fast. All this I was told; for, while 
the whole operation was performing, I lay in a profound sleep, 
by the force of that soporiferous medicine infused into my 
liquor. Fifteen hundred of the emperor’s largest horses, each 
about four inches and a half high, were employed to draw me 
towards the metropolis, which, as I said, was half a mile dis¬ 
tant. 

About four hours after we began our journey, I awaked by 
a very ridiculous accident ; for the carriage being stopped 
awhile, to adjust something that was out of order, two or 
three of the young natives had the curiosity to see how I looked 
when I was asleep; they climbed up into the engine, and, ad¬ 
vancing very softly to my face, one of them, an officer in the 
guards, put the sharp end of his half-pike a good way up into 
my left nostril, which tickled my nose like a straw, and made 
me sneeze violently; whereupon they stole off unperceived, 
and it was three weeks before I knew the cause of my waking 
so suddenly. We made a long march the remaining part of 
the day, and rested at night with live hundred guards on each 
side of me, half with torches and half with bows and arrows, 
ready to shoot me if I should offer to stir. The next morning 
at sunrise we continued our march, and arrived within two 


220 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


hundred yards of the city-gates about noon. The emperor, 
and all his court, came out to meet us; but his great officers 
would by no means suffer his ihajesty to endanger his person 
by mounting on my body. 

James Thomson, 1700-1748. 

James Thomson, author of The Seasons , was born in 
Scotland in 1700. After completing his academic 
course at the University of Edinburgh, he went to Lon¬ 
don, taking with him his unfinished manuscript poem 
of Winter. It was published in 1726, and in the two 
succeeding years was followed by its beautiful compan¬ 
ions, Summer and Spring, Autumn not appearing until 
1730. The four works, which together compose a 
complete cycle of the various appearances of an Eng¬ 
lish year, have kept a hold of the public mind, and de¬ 
serve their popularity. In his imitation of nature and 
in originality of expression, Thomson is considered 
superior to all the descriptive poets, except Oowper; 
and, although he is occasionally deficient in simplicity 
and chasteness, he has exhibited in a thousand in¬ 
stances a peculiar felicity in the use of appropriate 
words, which paint almost to the eye 

‘Wliat oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed.’ 

Dr. Johnson has sketched with a masterly hand his 
poetical characteristics: “He is entitled,” says this 
eminent critic, “to praise of the highest kind—his 
mode of thinking and of expressing his thoughts is 
original. His numbers, his powers, his diction, are of 
his own growth, without transcription, without imita¬ 
tion. He thinks in a peculiar train, and he thinks 
always as a man of genius. He looks round on nature 
and on life with the eye which nature bestows only on 
a poet—the eye that distinguishes in everything pre- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


221 


sented to its view whatever there is on which imagina¬ 
tion can delight to be detained—and with a mind that 
at once comprehends the vast and attend to the mi¬ 
nute.” “It has been customary,” says Angus, “to 
compare Thomson and Cowper, and the comparison is 
not without interest. They agree in their admira¬ 
tion of nature, and largely in their tenderness of feel¬ 
ing, in humaneness of taste and emotion. Cowper has 
less enthusiasm. Few passages of his are equal in 
power to some of Thomson’s, the Hymn of the Seasons, 
for example, and the description of the Earthquake of 
Cartliagena , but, in the harmony of his later verse, in 
ease, variety, and grace of style, Cowper is immeasura¬ 
bly superior.” 

After the publication of The Seasons , Thomson em¬ 
ployed himself in the composition of various tragedies 
and a poem on Liberty. But they are not equal to his 
other performances, and they are now but little read. 
One of these tragedies, Sophonisba, was killed by the 
echo of a faulty line: 

O Soplionisba! Sophonisba, O! 
to which a London wag replied: 

O Jemmy Thomson! Jemmy Thomson, O! 

In 1748, was published the most brilliant work of his 
genius, his Castle of Indolence, an allegorical poem in 
the style and manner of Spenser. There is a peculiar 
charm in its descriptions, in the inexhaustible yet gen¬ 
tle flow of lulling images of calmness and repose. The poem 
is divided into two cantos, one of 78, the other of 79 stanzas. 
The poet did not long survive its publication. A violent cold 
carried him off in August, 1748, at the age of forty-eight. 

Thomson’s private character had its lights and shad- 


222 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ows. He possessed great kindness of heart and urban¬ 
ity of manners, and was a stranger to those enmities 
and jealousies which too often disturb the happiness of 
literary men. He is said, however, to have been indo¬ 
lent in his habits. Personal exertion was the last thing 
he would make use of, either to promote his own inte¬ 
rest or to serve others. 

The noblest and most affecting tribute to his mem¬ 
ory, is from the pen of Collins, the celebrated poet, 
whose beautiful elegy commences as follows : 

“ In yonder * grave a Druid lies, 

Where slowly winds the stealing wave; 

The year’s best sweets shall duteous rise, 

To deck its poet’s sylvan grave. 

Remembrarce oft shall haunt the shore, 

When Thames in summer wreaths is drest; 

And oft suspend the dripping oar, 

To bid his gentle spirit rest I ” 

WINTER. 

Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends, 
At first tliin-wavering, till at last the flakes 
Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day 
With a continual flow. Tlie cherished fields 
Put on their winter robe of purest white: 

’Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts 
Along the mazy current. Low the woods 
Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun, 

Faint from the west, emits his evening ray, 

Earth’s universal face, deep hid and chill, 

Is one wide dazzling waste that buries wide 
The works of man. Drooping, the laborer-ox 
Stands covered o’er with snow, and then demands 
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, 

Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around 
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon 
Which Providence assigns them. One alone, 


* The scene is supposed to lie on, the Thames, near Richmond, where 
Thomson was buried. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


223 


The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, 

Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, 

In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves 
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted mail 
His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first 
Against the window beats; then brisk alights 
On the warm hearth; then, hopping o’er the floor. 

Eyes all the smiling family askance, 

And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is: 

Till more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 
Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds 
Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, 

Though timorous of heart, and hard beset 
By death in various forms,—dark snares, and dogs, 

And more unpitying men,—the garden seeks, 

Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kinc 
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, 
With looks of dumb despair ; then, sad dispersed, 

Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow. 

THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 

In lowly dale, fast by a river’s side, 

With woody hill o’er hill encompassed round, 

A most enchanting wizard did abide, 

Than wliom a fiend more fell is nowhere found. 

It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground; 

And there a season atween June and May, 

Half-pranked with spring, with summer lialf-imbrowned, 
A listless climate made, where, sooth to say, 

No living wight could work, ne cared even for play. 

Was naught around but images of rest; 

Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between; 

And flowery beds that slumberous influence kest, 

From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green 
Where never yet was creeping creature seen. 

Meantime unnumbered glittering streamlets played, 

And hurled everywhere their waters sheen; 

That as they bickered through the sunny glade, 

Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made. 

Joined to the prattle of the purling rills 
Were heard the lowing herds along the vale, 


224 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills, 

And vacant shepherds piping in the dale: 

And now and then sweet Philomel would wail, 

Or stock-doves ’plain amid the forest deep, 

That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale; 

And still a coil the grasshopper did keep; 

Yet all these sounds yblent* inclined all to sleep. 

Full in the passage of the vale above, 

A sable, silent, solemn forest stood, 

Where naught but shadowy forms was seen to move, 

As Idlesse fancied in her dreaming mood: 

And up the hills, on either side, a wood 
Of blackening pines, ay waving to and fro, 

Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood; 

And where this valley winded out below, 

The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow. 

A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was, 

Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; 

And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 

Forever flushing round a summer sky: 

There eke the soft delights, that witeliingly 
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast, 

And the calm pleasures, always hovered nigh; 

But whate’er smacked of noyance or unrest 
Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest. 

rule Britannia! 

When Britain first, at Heaven’s command, 

Arose from out the azure main, 

This was the charter of the land, 

And guardian angels sung this strain, 

“ Buie, Britannia, rule the waves; 

Britons never will be slaves.” 

The nations, not so blest as thee, 

Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall; 

While thou slialt flourish great and free, 

The dread and envy of them all. 


* United. 




THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


225 


Still more majestic slialt thou rise, 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies, 

Serves but to root thy native oak. 

Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame; 

All their attempts to bend thee down 
Will but arouse thy generous flame, 

But work their woe, and thy renown. 

To thee belongs the rural reign; 

Thy cities shall with commerce shine; 

All thine shall be the subject main; 

And every shore it circles, thine. 

The Muses still with freedom found, 

Shall to thy happy coast repair: 

Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned, 

And manly hearts to guard the fair: 

“ Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, 

Britons never will be slaves.” 

THE CARE OF THE YOUNG. 

(From Spring.) 

Then infant reason grows apace, and calls 
For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 

Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 

To teach the young idea how to shoot, 

To pour the fresh instruction o’er the mind, 

To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
The generous purpose in the glowing breast. 

William Collins, 1720-1756. 

William Collins holds a foremost rank among the 
lyrical poets of England, although, on account of the 
small number and brevity of his poems, he is classed 
among the minor poets. His history is short and mel¬ 
ancholy. He was born at Chichester, in 1720. His 
father, who was by trade a hatter, had sufficient means 
to send his son to Winchester School, and afterwards to 
Queen's College, Oxford. 

15 


226 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Whilst at the University, he commenced his career 
of author by publishing, in 1742, his Oriental Eclogues, 
and his poetical Epistle to Sir Thomas Ilanmer. On 
leaving the University, where he was noted for 'ability 
and indolence/ he proceeded to London, a literary ad¬ 
venturer, 'with many projects in his head/ if we are 
to believe Dr. Johnson, 'and little money in his pocket/ 
Whilst in London, he contributed to the Gentleman's 
Magazine; published proposals for a history of the re¬ 
vival of literature which was never written. He com¬ 
posed and brought out his Odes, Descriptive and Alle¬ 
gorical, in order to procure the means of present sub¬ 
sistence; but their sale did not pay for the expense of 
printing them. Even the best, as The Passions, Fear, 
Liberty, Dirge in Cymbeline, were not duly appreciated 
until their author was beyond the reach of praise or 
censure. Disappointment and poverty broke his sen¬ 
sitive spirit, and overclouded the last five or six years 
of his life. "With the usual weakness of men so 
diseased, he eagerly snatched that temporary relief with 
which the table and the bottle flatter and seduce. 
But his health continually declined, and he grew more 
and more burdensome to himself.” * After a temporary 
confinement in a lunatic asylum, he retired to Chiches¬ 
ter, where he remained till his death under the care of 
one of his sisters. 

The odes of Collins are among the best in the lan¬ 
guage. The Ode to Evening consists of but thirteen 
short quatrains without rhyme; but in its fifty-two 
lines we have the whole spirit and essence of the sub¬ 
ject. The Ode on the Passions is exquisitely felicitous 
in conception, whilst the striking personifications with 
which it abounds, are worked out in the true lyrical 
spirit. 


* Dr. Johnson. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


ODE ON THE PASSIONS. 

When Music, heavenly maid! was young, 

While yet in early Greece she sung, 

The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 

Thronged around her magic cell; 

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 

Possessed beyond the muse’s pafnting. 

By turns they felt the glowing mind, 

Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined; 

Till once, ’tis said, when all were fired, 

Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, 

From the supporting myrtles round, 

They snatched her instruments of sound; 

And as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 

Each, for madness ruled the hour, 

Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewildered laid; 

And back recoiled, he knew not why, 

Even at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, 

In lightnings owned his secret stings; 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept with hurried hands the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair, 

Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled; 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 

’Twas sad by fits, by starts ’twas wild. 

But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, 

What was thy delighted measure ? 

Still it whispered promised pleasure, 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. 

Still would her touch the strain prolong; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 

She called on Echo still through all the song; 

And where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; 

And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair 


228 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


And longer had she sung, but with a frown 
Revenge impatient rose; 

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, 
And, with a withering look, 

The war-denouncing trumpet took, 

And blew a blast so loud and dread, 

Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe; 

And ever and anon he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat; 

And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity at his side 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 

Yet still he kept his wild-unaltered mien, 

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. 

Thy numbers. Jealousy, to naught were fixed, 

Sad proof of thy distressful state; 

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed, 

And now it courted Love, now raving called on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired, 

And from her wild-sequestered seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul; 

And dashing soft from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound: 

Through glades and glooms one mingled measure stole: 

Or, o’er some haunted stream with fond delay, 

Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lonely musing, 

In hollow murmurs died away. 

But oh! how altered was its sprightly tone, 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 

The hunter’s call, to Faun and Dryad known; 

The oak-crowned sisters, and their cliaste-eyed queen, 
Satyr and sylvan boys, were seen 
Peeping from forth their alleys green; 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, 

And Sport leaped up and seized his beeclien spear. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


229 


Last came Joy’s ecstatic trial: 

He, with viny crown advancing, 

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed; 

But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol, 

AYliose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 

They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw in Tempe’s vale her native maids, 
Amidst the festal sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing: 

While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round, 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; 

And he, amidst his frolic play, 

As if he would the charming air repay, 

Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 

O Music! sphere-descended maid, 

Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom’s aid, 

Why, goddess, why to us denied, 

Layest thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 

As in that loved Athenian bower, 

You learn an all-commanding power, 

Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared, 

Can well recall what then it heard. 

Where is thy native simple heart, 

Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? 

Arise, as in that elder time, 

Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! 

Thy wonders in that godlike age 
Fill thy recording sister’s page; 

’Tis said, and I believe the tale, 

Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 

Had more of strength, diviner rage, 

Than all which charms this laggard age; 

Even all at once together found 
Cecilia’s mingled world of sound. 

Oh! bid you* vain endeavors cease, 

Revive the just designs of Greece; 

Return in all thy simple state; 

Confirm the tales her sons relate. 


230 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ODE TO EVENING. 

If auglit of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 

May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, 

Like thy own solemn springs, 

Thy springs, and dying gales; 

O nymph reserved, while now the briglit-liaired sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With brede ethereal wove, 

O’erliang his wavy bed: 

Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat, 

With short shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing, 

Or where the beetle winds 
His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises, midst the twilight path, 

Against the pilgrim, borne in heedless hum: 

Now teach me, maid composed, 

To breathe some softened strain, 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit, 

As, musing slow, I hail 
Thy genial loved return! 

For when thy folding-star, arising, shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 
The fragrant hours, and elves 
Who slept in buds the day, 

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 
And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still, 

The pensive pleasures sweet 
Prepare thy shadowy car; 

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene, 

Or find some ruin midst its dreary delK, 

Whose walls more awful nod 
By thy religious gleams. 

Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, 

Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, 

That from the mountain’s side, 

Views wilds, and swelling floods, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


231 


And hamlets browii, and dim-discovered spires, 

And hears tlieir simple bell, and marks o’er all 
Thy dewy fingers draw 
The gradual dusky veil. 

• While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve, 

While Summer loves to sport 
Beneath thy lingering light: 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves. 

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air. 
Affrights thy shrinking train. 

And rudely rends thy robes: 

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule. 

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 

Thy gentlest influence own. 

And love thy favorite name! 


Edward Young, 1681-1765. 

Edward Young, author of Night Thoughts, was 
born in 1681, at Upham, in Hampshire, where his 
father was rector. He was educated at Winchester 
School, and afterwards obtained a fellowship at Oxford. 
In the course of his studies, he showed great .subtlety 
of mind in abstruse questions. Tindal, his examiner, 
used to say of him: “ The other boys I can always 
answer, because I know whence they have their argu¬ 
ments, which I have read a hundred times; but that 
fellow Young is always pestering me with something of 
his own.” His first attempt at verse was an Epistle to 
Lord Lansdowne. After writing several minor pieces, 
he produced, in 1721, his tragedy The Revenge. It 
still keeps the stage, and its hero, Zanga, stands pre¬ 
eminent for theatrical interest among the personages 
of modern tragedy. He was the author of two other 
plays, Busiris and Tlic Brothers. As a dramatic 


232 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


writer, with much poetic conception and strong feeling, 
he is exaggerated and bombastic. He published, be¬ 
tween the years 1725 and 1728, seven epistles, or sa¬ 
tires, entitled the Love of Fame. As they touch only 
on the surface of life, and abound more in flashes of 
wit and in caricature than in grave exposure of vice 
and folly, their power is exhausted by a single perusal. 

When upwards of fifty, he entered the church, wrote 
a panegyric on the king, and was made one of his 
majesty's chaplains. Swift, in his Rhapsody on Poe¬ 
try, speaks of the Court 

Whence Gay was banished in disgrace, 

Where Pope will never show his face, 

Where Young must torture his invention 
To flatter knaves, or lose liis pension. 

To the sorrows and disappointments which embit¬ 
tered his domestic life, is to be attributed the poem on 
which rests his fame. This work, the Night Thoughts, 
is a series of solemn reflections on life, death, and im¬ 
mortality, divided into nine Books or Nights, each of 
which is independent of the rest, and pursues some 
train of thought in harmony with the poet's supposed 
feelings at the time of composition. Sublime images 
and striking passages are not wanting to the poem, but 
the bulk of it is declamatory, the style artificial, highly- 
wrought, and not pure. Pew writers of acknowledged 
merit are so wanting in taste. “ Many fine things in 
Night Thoughts,” says Johnson, “ though you cannot 
find twenty lines together without some extravagance." 
Perhaps the best compliment ever paid to that poem is 
the fact that Edmund Burke committed many portions 
of it to memory. 

“ Young has been eulogized as a Christian philoso¬ 
pher, but his character had in it no trace of self-denial 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


233 


or nobleness.” * In his youth, he was not free from the 
vice of dissipation; and, in the maturity of his life, he 
stooped from the dignity of his sacred profession by his 
servile adulation of the court, and his anxious seeking 
of preferment and applause. 

NIGHT. 

Night, sable goddess! from her ehon throne, 

In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
Her leaden sceptre o’er a slumbering wcild. 

Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound 1 
Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds; 

Creation sleeps. ’Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause; 

An awful pause! prophetic of her end. 

THE REVOLUTION OF THE SEASONS. 

Look nature through, ’tis revolution all; 

All change, no death; day follows night, and night 
The dying day; stars rise and set, and set and rise: 

Earth takes the example. See, the Summer gay, 

With her green chaplet and ambrosial flowers, 

Droops into pallid Autumn: Winter gray, 

Horrid with frost and turbulent with storms, 

Blows Autumn and his golden fruits away, 

Then melts into the Spring: soft Spring, with breath 
Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, 

Recalls the first. All, to reflourish, fades: 

As in a wheel, all sinks to reascend: 

Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. 

MAN. 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 

How complicate, how wonderful is man! 

How passing wonder He who made him such! 

Who centred in our name such strange extremes, 

From different natures marvellously mixed, 

Connection exquisite of distant worlds! 


* Thomas Arnold, Man. Eng. Lit. 



234 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Distinguished link in being’s endless chain! 
Midway from nothing to the Deity! 

A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt! 

Though sullied and dishonored, still divine! 

Dim miniature of greatness absolute! 

An heir of glory! a frail child of dust: 

Helpless immortal! insect infinite! 

A worm! a god! I tremble at myself, 

And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger, 
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, 
And wondering at her own. How reason reels! 
Oh what a miracle to man is man! 

Triumphantly distressed! what joy! what dread! 
Alternately transported and alarmed! 

What can preserve my life! or what destroy! 

An angel’s arm can’t snatch me from the grave; 
Legions of angels can’t confine me there. 


THOUGHTS ON TIME. 

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 
But from its loss: to give it then a tongue 
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 

It is the knell of my departed hours. 

Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood. 
It is the signal that demands despatch: 

How much is to be done ? My hopes and fears 
Start up alarmed, and o’er life’s narrow verge 
Look down—on what ? A fathomless abyss. 

A dread eternity! how r surely mine! 

And can eternity belong to me, 

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? 

Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; 

Part witli it as with money, sparing; pay 
No moment, but in purchase of its worth; 

And what it’s worth, ask death-beds; they can tell. 
Part with it as with life, reluctant; big 
With holy hope of nobler time to come; 

Time higher-aimed, still nearer the great mark 
Of men and angels, virtue more divine. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


235 


Thomas Gray, 171G-1771. 

Thomas Gray, author of the Elegy written in a 
Country Churchyard , was born at Cornhill, London, in 
1716. It was to the exertions of his mother that he 
was indebted for the opportunities of a liberal educa¬ 
tion, first at Eton School, and afterwards at Cambridge. 
Having accepted an invitation from a fellow-student, 
Horace Walpole, son of the prime minister, to accom¬ 
pany him in a tour through France and Italy, he de¬ 
scribed the incidents of his journey in a series of letters, 
which, for their elegance and classic style, are consid¬ 
ered as models of epistolary composition. Johnson, in 
his life of Gray, gives them the following commenda¬ 
tion: “He that reads his epistolary narration, wishes 
that to travel and to tell his travels had been more of 
his employment; but it is by studying at home, that 
we must obtain -the ability of travelling with intelli¬ 
gence and improvement.” 

His first public appearance as a poet was made in 
1747, when he published his Ode on a distant prospect 
of Eton College. “ It is more mechanical and common¬ 
place than his Elegy ; but it touches on certain strings 
about the heart, that vibrate in unison with it, to our 
latest breath. No one ever passes by Windsor's f stately 
heights,' or sees the distant spires of Eton College, 
without thinking of Gray.” * 

Four years afterwards, his Elegy in a Country Church¬ 
yard was written, and immediately became popular. 
The natural and touching strain of thought, expressed 
with consummate taste, and in a charming metre, has 
imparted to this poem such a union of impressiveness 
and grace as to render it a masterpiece of elegiac coin- 


* Hazlitt’s Lectures on the English Poets. 





236 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


position. “ Had Gray written often tlius,” says Dr. 
Johnson, “ it had been vain to blame, and useless to 
praise him. ” What, for instance, can exceed the ex¬ 
quisite beauty and finish of these well-known lines: 

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 

The dark unfatliomed caves of ocean bear: 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Ilis other works consist principally of his lyrical odes. 
The most admired are On Spring, To Adversity, The 
Progress of Poetry, and The Bard. The last two ap¬ 
peared together in 1757. Although arrayed in real 
elegance of taste, they are censured by some on ac¬ 
count of the artificial and unnatural character and 
over-elaboration of their style. Lord Byron has said 
that the corner-stone of his glory is his unrivalled 
Elegy ; and that, without it, his odes would not be suffi¬ 
cient for his fame. 

Gray was a ripe scholar; his Latin poems are among 
the finest specimens of that kind of composition in our 
literature. Metaphysics, morals, and politics, made a 
principal part of his study; voyages and travels of all 
sorts, were his favorite amusements. There is no char¬ 
acter, however, without some imperfection; and the 
greatest defect in him was an affectation in delicacy, or 
rather effeminacy. “He loved to assume the char¬ 
acter of the fine gentleman—a mean and odious ambi¬ 
tion in any one, but scarcely to be forgiven in a man of 
genius. He would shrug his shoulders and distort his 
voice into fastidious tones, and take upon himself the 
airs of what folly is pleased to call high company.” * 

In 1768, he obtained the professorship of Modern 
History in the University of Cambridge. It was in 

* Sir E. Bridges, Traits in the literai’y character of Gray the poet. 





THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


237 


1771, whilst at dinner in the College, that he was 
seized with the illness of which he died in a few days. 
According to his desire, he was buried by the side of 
his mother at Stoke. 


ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 

The lowing herds wind slowly o’er the lea, 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as wandering near her secret bower, 

Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care: 

No children run to lisp their sire’s return, 

Or climb his knee the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 

How jocund did they drive their team a-fleld! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 


238 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour:— 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 

If Memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can Honor’s voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 

Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of time did ne’er unroll; 

Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene } 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood; 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood. 

The applause of listening senates to command, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation’s eyes, 

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone, 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


239 


Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind: 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame. 

Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife 
Their sober wishes ever learned to stray; 

Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply: 

And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing anxious being e’er resigned, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 

Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 

Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful’ of the unhonored dead, 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; 

If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate; 

Haply some lioary-headed swain may say, 

“ Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 


240 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 

And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; 

Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, 

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

One morn I missed him on the ’customed hill, 

Along the heath and near his favorite tree; 

Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was lie; 

The next, with dirges due, in sad array 
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne! 

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on tlie stone beneath yon aged thorn.” 

Epitaph. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: 

Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, 

And melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send: 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 

He gained from heaven (’twas all lie wished) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode ; 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 

The bosom of his father and his God. 

Letters of Junius, 1769-1772. 

The Letters of Junius are a series of satirical letters 
which originally appeared in the London Advertiser, 
from January, 1769, to January, 1772. They were di¬ 
rected against the Tory ministry of the time. The 
writer’s classical style, the sharpness of his criticisms, 
the force and clearness of his arguments, the extent of 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


241 


liis information, his firm attachment to the purest prin¬ 
ciples of the British constitution, and the impenetrable 
secrecy which under the pseudonym of Junius shrouded 
his authorship, obtained for these letters an unparal¬ 
leled popularity, which still clings to them. The paternity 
of these letters has been ascribed to several writers, amongst 
others, to Edmund Burke, Lord Sherburn, Lord George 
Sackvilie, the Marquess of Lansdowne, and Sir Philip 
Francis, but no absolute proof has ever been given to the 
public in favor of any. Persistent efforts have been made 
in behalf of Sir Philip Francis, and the circumstantial evi¬ 
dence was such that Macaulay thought it sufficient “to 
support a verdict in a civil, nay, in a criminal, proceeding.” 
But the mystery is as hidden to-day as it ever was.* Sir 
Philip Francis (b. in Dublin in 1740, d. in 1818) took an 
active part in the politics of his time, and was one of the 
leading prosecutors of Warren Hastings. 


(From the Dedication to the English Nation.) 

I dedicate to you a collection of letters, written by one 
of yourselves, for the common benefit of us all. They would 
never have grown to this size, without your continued en¬ 
couragement and applause. To me they originally owe 
nothing, but a healthy, sanguine constitution. Under your 
care they have thriven. To you they are indebted for what¬ 
ever strength or beauty they possess. When kings and 
ministers are forgotten, when the force and direction of 
personal satire is no longer understood, and when measures 
are only felt in their remotest consequences, this book will, 
I believe, be found to contain principles worthy to be trans¬ 
mitted to posterity. When you leave the unimpaired, heredi¬ 
tary freehold to your children, you do but half your duty. 
Both liberty and property are precarious, unless the pos¬ 
sessors have sense and spirit enough to defend them. This 
is not the language of vanity. If I am a vain man, my gratifi¬ 
cation lies within a narrow circle. I am the sole depositary of 
my own secret, and it shall perish with me. 


* Pee an article on this subject in The Atheneeum, March 17, 1894. 

1(3 






242 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


(From his Letter to the King.) 

Sir: It is the misfortune of your life, and originally the 
cause of every reproach and distress which has attended your 
government,, that you should never have been acquainted with 
the language of truth, until you heard it in the complaints 
of your people.. It is not, however, too late to correct the 
error of your education. We are still inclined to make an 
indulgent allowance fo* the pernicious lessons you received in 
your youth, ansi to form the most sanguine hopes from the 
natural benevolence of your disposition. We are far from 
thinking yon capable of a direct, deliberate purpose to invade 
those original rights of your subjects, on which all their civil 
and political liberties depend. Had it been possible for us to 
entertain a suspicion so dishonorable to your character, we 
should long since have adapted a style of remonstrance very 
distant from the humility of complaint. The doctrine in¬ 
culcated by our laws, ‘ that the king can do no wrong,’ is 
admitted without reluctance. We separate the amiable, good- 
natured prince,, from the folly and treachery of his servants, 
and the private virtues of the man, from the vices of his 
government. Were it not for this just distinction, I know not 
whether your majesty’s condition, or that of the English 
nation, would deserve most to be lamented. I would prepare 
your mind for a favorable reception of truth, by removing 
every painful offensive idea of personal reproach. Your sub¬ 
jects, sir, wish for nothing but that, as they are reasonable 
and affectionate enough to separate your person from your 
government, so ; you, in your turn, should distinguish between 
the conduct which becomes the permanent dignity of a king, 
and that which serves, only to promote the temporary interest 
and miserable ambition of a minister. 

Oliver Goldsmith, 1728-1774. 

Oliver Goldsmith, the gifted poet and prose writer, 
was born in the County of Longford, Ireland. Ilis 
father was the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, supposed to be 
described in the characters of the Man in Black in the 
Citizen of the World , the preacher in The Deserted 
Village , and Dr. Primrose in The Vicar of Wakefield. 
At the age of eighteen, Oliver was entered at Trinity 
College, Dublin, as a sizar. Instead of applying dili- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


243 


gently to his studies, lie spent a part of his time in 
writing street-ballads and stealing out at night to hear 
them sung. After four years, he left the University 
with a very low B.A. He now made successive at¬ 
tempts to become a clergyman, a tutor, and a lawyer, 
but his levity and waywardness doomed him in each 
case to disappointment. His next experiment was to 
study medicine. For that purpose he removed to 
Edinburgh, and subsequently to Leyden University, 
but he made no effort to obtain a degree. From the 
latter place, he started on a continental pedestrian tour, 
being provided, it is said, ‘with a guinea in his 
pocket, one shirt to his back, and a flute in his hand ; 9 
and he actually travelled on foot through Flanders, 
part of France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. 
After one year of wandering, lonely and in poverty, 
yet buoyed up by dreams of hope and fame, he 
reached London, early in 1756. Many a hard struggle 
for a livelihood had he to encounter, until his versatile 
talents and ready pen attracted the notice of the 
London booksellers. He wrote articles for the Monthly 
Review, the British Magazine, the Critical Review, the 
Lady’s Magazine, and the Bee. In 1762, appeared his 
well-known work. The Citizen of the World, originally 
contributed to the Public Ledger in the form of letters 
supposed to be written by a Chinese philosopher 
resident in England. It is in reality a pungent expo¬ 
sition of the peculiarities of English manners and 
customs. The first of his two memorable poems, The 
Traveller , was published in 1764. It is a meditative 
and descriptive work, embodying the impressions of 
human life and society which he had felt in his travels 
and in his early struggles. It contains little that is 
very new or striking in the ideas or the imagery; but 
it is exquisitely versified, and in beauty of expression 


244 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


has never been surpassed. The Deserted Village (1770) 
greatly enhanced his poetic fame. “ His chaste pa¬ 
thos,” to use the words of T. Campbell, “ makes him 
an insinuating moralist, and throws a charm of Claude- 
like * softness over his descriptions of homely objects 
that would seem only fit to be the subjects of Dutch 
painting. But his quiet enthusiasm leads the affec¬ 
tions to humble things without a vulgar association; 
and he inspires us with a fondness to trace the 
simplest recollections of Auburn, till we count the 
furniture of its ale-house and listen to the ( varnished 
clock that clicked behind the door/ ” Goldsmith is 
also the author of two most amusing comedies. The 
Good-natured Man , and She Stoops to Conquer, and of 
a much-admired dbmestic novel, The Vicar of Wake¬ 
field. In 1763, he published a History of England , 
in letters from a nobleman to his son. Its popularity 
induced the author to compile a more extended history 
of England, and to prepare abridgments of Grecian 
and Roman history. These works have absolutely no 
authority as history; they were written merely as book¬ 
seller’s task-work, and yet from the purity of the style 
and the grace of composition they have had a most 
extensive sale. His History of Animated Nature is 
for the most part a condensation of Buffon’s Histoire 
Naturelle. 

The general characteristics of this distinguished and 
favorite author are thus described by Dr. Johnson: 
“A man of such variety of powers and such felicity 
of performance, that he always seemed to do best that 
which he was doing; a man who had the art of being 
minute without tediousness, and general without con¬ 
fusion; whose language was copious without exuber- 


* Claude (1000-1683) was a Dutch painter of landscape, distinguished for 
the richness and beauty of his coloring. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


245 


ance, exact without constraint, and easy without weak¬ 
ness.” No writer of his time possessed more genuine 
humor, or was capable of more poignancy in marking 
the foibles of individuals. “ Though his mind,” says 
Macaulay, “was scantily stored with materials, he 
used what materials he had in such a way as to pro¬ 
duce a wonderful etfect. There have been many 
greater writers; but perhaps no writer was ever more 
uniformly agreeable. His style was always pure and 
easy, and on proper occasions pointed and energetic. 
His narratives were always amusing; his descriptions 
always picturesque; his humor rich and joyous, yet 
not without an occasional tinge of amiable sadness.” 

The faults of Goldsmith, though they must not 
escape censure, will always cause regret. He was vain, 
sensual, and frivolous. His manners were eccentric, 
even to absurdity. His improvidence, his fondness for 
games of chance, and his want of high moral and 
religious tone, are deeply to he deplored; but that 
genuine and ever-flowing benevolence of heart, which 
few have surpassed, calls for our admiration and 
esteem. He was subject to depression of spirits; and, 
in 1774, continual vexation of mind, arising perhaps 
from his involved circumstances, brought on a nervous 
fever of which he died in the forty-sixth year of his 
age. His remains were interred in the Temple bury- 
ing-ground; but the spot was not marked by any 
inscription, and is now forgotten. A subscription was 
afterwards collected for the purpose of erecting a 
monument to his memory in Westminster Abbey. On 
the poet's tomb, a suitable Latin inscription, written 
by Dr. Johnson, contains this truthful and eloquent 
eu login m: 

Qui nullum fere dioendi genus 
Non tetigit, 

Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit . 


246 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


VILLAGE PREACHER. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 

And still where many a garden flower grows wild, 

There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 

The village preacher’s modest mansion rose. 

A man he was to all the country dear, 

And passing rich with forty pounds a year; 

Remote from towns, he ran his godly race, 

Nor e’er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; 
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, 

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; 

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 

More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 

His house was known to all the vagrant train; 

He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain. 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 

Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 

Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; 

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 

Sat by the fire and talked the night away; 

Wept o’er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 

Plis pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 

And even his failings leaned to virtue’s side; 

But, in his duty prompt at every call, 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; 

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 

To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 

And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 

The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 

And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


24 


At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorned the venerable place; 

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway; 

And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 

The service past, around the pious man, 

With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; 

Even children followed with endearing wile, 

And plucked his gown, to share the good man’s smile; 
His ready smile a parent’s warmth expressed. 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm; 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternaf sunshine settles on its head. 

VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 

There in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, 

The village master taught his little school; 

A man severe he was, and stern to view; 

I knew him well, and every truant knew. 

Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day’s disasters in his morning’s face; 

Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 

Full well the busy whisper circling round, 

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned: 

Yet he was kind; or, if severe in aught, 

The love he bore to learning was in fault; 

The village all declared how much he knew; 

’Twas certain he could write and cipher too; 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage; 

And even the story ran that he could gauge; 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 

For even though vanquished, he could argue still; 
While words of learned length, and thundering sound, 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 


248 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


But past is all his fame * the very spot 
Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 

THE VANITY OF POPULAR FAME. 

(From The Bee , No. VI.) 

A Chinese, who had long studied the works of Confucius, 
who knew the characters of fourteen thousand words, and 
could read a great part of every hook that came in his way, 
once took it into his head to travel into Europe, and observe 
the customs of a people whom he thought not very much inferior 
even to his own countrymen, in the art of refining upon every 
pleasure. Upon his arrival at Amsterdam, his passion for let¬ 
ters naturally led him to a bookseller’s shop, and, as he could 
speak a little Dutch, he civilly asked the bookseller for the 
works of the immortal Xixofou. The bookseller assured him 
he had never heard of the book mentioned before. “What! 
have you never heard of that immortal poet ? ” returned the 
other much surprised; “that light of the eyes, that favorite 
of kings, that rose of perfection! I suppose you know nothing 
of the immortal Fipsihihi, second cousin to the moon ?” 
“Nothing at all, indeed, sir,” returned the other. “Alas!” 
cries our traveller, “ to what purpose, then, has one of these 
fasted to death, and the other offered himself up as a sacrifice 
to the Tartar enemy, to gain a renown which has never 
travelled beyond the precincts of China ? ” 

There is scarce a village in Europe, and not one university, 
that is not thus furnished with its little great men. 

David Hume, 1711-1776. 

David Hume, the distinguished Scotch historian, 
was born in Edinburgh, in 1711. He was destined by 
his family for the law ; but his passion for literature 
was so strong, that he could not confine himself to pro¬ 
fessional studies ; and, as he observes in his memoirs, 
while his family fancied him to be poring over Yoet and 
Yinnius, he was devouring Cicero and Virgil. Many 
years which he spent on the Continent, and chiefly in 
France, gave him special opportunities for observation, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 249 

but unfortunately developed in him a tendency to scep¬ 
ticism and infidelity. 

His first work, A Treatise on Human Nature, was 
unsuccessful; but, not discouraged at this, he pub¬ 
lished, five years later, in 1741, his Essays, Moral and 
Political, and, in HAS,.Philosophical Essays concerning 
the Human Understanding. In these philosophical 
works, Hume is one of the most dangerous of infidel 
writers. His subtle metaphysics tend to undermine 
religion. He boldly aims to spread the cloud of scepti¬ 
cism over the existence of God, free-will, and the im¬ 
mortality of the soul; and tries to justify suicide. Ac¬ 
cording to him, virtue consists only in the general ap¬ 
probation ; and, emboldened by his discovery, he gives 
the name of virtue to eloquence, taste, and even force. 
“ In fact, the works of Hume and Gibbon,” says Count 
de Maistre, “ are neither more nor less than, in general, 
a conspiracy against Christianity and Christian piety.” * 

In 1752 appeared his Political Discourses. They are 
ranked amongst the best models we have of the reason¬ 
ing that belongs to subjects of this nature. 

The first volume of his History of Great Britain, 
containing the reigns of James I. and Charles I., was 
published in 1754, with so little success that forty-five 
copies only were sold in a twelvemonth; but, in pro¬ 
portion as the succeeding volumes appeared, the public 
admiration increased, and the History soon attained a 
high rank as a literary performance. This success en¬ 
couraged him to complete his work from the earliest 
period, a task which he accomplished in two additional 
volumes, in 1761. The History, as a whole, is of no 
high authority. From first to last, it is evidently the 
work of an essayist and 4 philosopher/ who regarded 


* Lettres d'un gentilhomme Basse sur t'lnquisition Espagnole , Lettre V. 



250 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


truth as subordinate to effect, and looked to his own 
ends, personal and philosophical. To apologize for the 
misconduct of the Stuarts, to write down the British 
Constitution, as well as the Christian religion, or at 
least so much of both as were not then admired by the 
higher order of the state, were among the objects he 
sought to attain. “ His misrepresentations are now so 
glaring,” says the North American Review, “that the 
very party he intended to aid, has been obliged to turn 
against him in self-defence.”* “ If we were obliged,” 
says Allibone, “ to compress into the limits of a single 
sentence, the characteristics of Hume’s History of Eng- 
. land , we suppose that the following could be considered 
an impartial statement : Beauty of style, carelessness 
of facts, and intolerance of spirit. Hume was too fas¬ 
tidious to be inelegant, too indolent to be accurate, too 
bigoted to be impartial.” But Hume will always be 
read in spite of his carelessness, and in spite of his 
errors. Nine readers seek amusement where one seeks 
instruction. 

The literary distinction which Ilurfie had acquired, 
procured for him honors and public appointments. In 
1769, he retired from public life, and, after living seven 
years in lettered ease, he died in 1776, in Edinburgh, 
his native city. His death has been represented by his 
friends as tranquil and calm, and he himself, describing 
his illness only four months before, says: “Notwith¬ 
standing the great decline of my person, I have never 
suffered a moment’s abatement of my spirits.” But, if 
the testimony of Franklin, who was present during his 
last moments, is to be admitted, nothing could give 
stronger evidence of the existence of a God, of the eter¬ 
nity of torments, of the worm of conscience, and of the 
blackest despair, than the very countenance of this un¬ 
happy man. Franklin endeavored to speak of God. 


* Vol. 23 . 




THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


251 


Hume requested him to say no more ; he had grown old 
in, and so long propagated, his wretched principles 
that it was now too late. Franklin said something 
relative to the mercy of God and His readiness to re¬ 
ceive the returning criminal—but in vain ; even the 
mention of mercy startled the unhappy man, and made 
him appear to feel unutterable woe.* 

UNJUST PERSECUTION OF THE JESUITS IN ENGLAND UNDER 
CHARLES II. 

(From The History of England, Vol. IV:, Chap. LXVIII.) 

The King was willing to try every means which gave a pros¬ 
pect of more compliance in his .subjects; and in case of fail¬ 
ure, the blame, be hoped, would lie on those whose obstinacy 
forced him to extremities. 

But even during the recess of Parliament, there was no 
interruption in the prosecution of the Catholics accused of 
the plot ; the King found himself obliged to give way to 
this popular fury. Wliitebread, provincial of the Jesuits, 
Fenwic, Gavan, Turner, and Harcourt, all of them of the same 
order, were first brought to their trial. Besides Oates and 
Bedloe, Dugdall, a new witness, appeared against the prison¬ 
ers. This man had been steward to Lord Aston, and, 
though poor, possessed a character somewhat more repu¬ 
table than the other two ; but his account of the intended 
massacres and assassinations was equally monstrous and in¬ 
credible. He even asseited that two hundred thousand pa¬ 
pists in England were ready to take arms. The prisoners 
proved by sixteen witnesses, from St. Omer’s students, and 
most of them young men of family, that Oates was in that 
seminary at the time when he swore that he was in London ; 
but, as they were Catholics, and disciples of the Jesuits, their 
testimony with the judges and jury were totally disregarded. 
Even the reception which they met with in court was full of out¬ 
rage and mockery. One of them saying that Oates always con¬ 
tinued at St. Omer’s, if he could believe bis senses : “ You 
papists,” said the Chief Justice, “ are taught not to believe 
your senses.” It must be confessed that Oates, in opposition 
to the students of St. Omer’s, found means to bring evidence 


* Ganclolphy’s Defence of the Ancient Faith. 



252 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


of his having been at that time in London; but this evidence, 
though it had, at that time, the appearance of some solidity, 
was afterwards discovered, when Oates himself was tried for 
perjury, to be altogether deceitful. In order further to dis¬ 
credit that witness, the Jesuits proved by undoubted testi¬ 
mony that he had perjured himself in Father Ireland’s trial, 
whom they showed to have been in Staffordshire at the very 
time when Oates swore that he was committing treason in 
London. But all these pleas availed them nothing, against the 
general prejudices. They received sentence of death ; some 
were executed, persisting to their last breath in the most 
solemn, earnest, and deliberate, though disregarded, protesta¬ 
tion of their innocence. 


CHARACTER OF ALFRED THE GREAT. 

The merit of this prince, both in private and public life, 
may, with advantage, be set in opposition to that of any mon¬ 
arch or citizen, which the annals of any age or any nation can 
present to us. He seems, indeed, to be the complete model of 
that perfect character, which, under the denomination of a 
sage or wise man, the philosophers have been fond of delineat¬ 
ing, rather as a fiction of their imagination, than in hopes 
of ever seeing it reduced to practice; so happily were all his 
virtues tempered together; so justly were they blended; and 
so powerfully did each prevent the other from exceeding its 
proper bounds. 

He knew how to conciliate the most enterprising spirit with 
the coolest moderation; the most obstinate perseverance, with 
the easiest flexibility ; the most severe justice, with the great¬ 
est lenity ; the greatest rigor in command, with the greatest 
affability of deportment ; the highest capacity and inclination 
for science, with the most shining talents for action. 

Nature also, as if desirous that so bright a production of her 
skill should be set in the fairest light, had bestowed on him 
all bodily accomplishments: vigor of limbs, dignity of shape 
and air, and a pleasant, engaging, and open countenance. By 
living in that barbarous age, he was deprived of historians 
worthy to transmit his fame to posterity; and we wish to see 
him delineated in more lively colors, and with more particular 
strokes, that we might at least perceive some of those small 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


253 


specks and blemishes, from which, as a man, it was impossible 
he should be entirely exempted. 

Samuel Johnson, 1709-1784. 

One of the most remarkable among the distinguished 
English writers of the eighteenth century, was Dr. 
Samuel Johnson. He was a man of multifarious 
knowledge, sagacity, and moral intrepidity. With 
great virtues, he possessed strong prejudices; and, 
though some of the higher qualities of genius eluded 
his grasp and observation, the withering scorn and in¬ 
vective with which he assailed all affected sentimental¬ 
ism, immorality, and licentiousness, obtained for him 
great ascendency, and introduced a more healthful at¬ 
mosphere into the crowded walks of English litera¬ 
ture. Johnson was born at Lichfield, in 1709. Com¬ 
pelled by poverty to leave his education at Oxford in¬ 
complete, he consented to act as usher in a grammar 
school; and, after unsuccessfully attempting to con¬ 
duct a school of his own, travelled to London, in 1737, 
in company with his friend and former pupil, Dayid 
Garrick. He now entered upon a new career of author 
by profession, contributing essays, reviews, and other 
articles, to the Gentleman's Magazine. Toilsome and 
slow was his ascent to comfort and to fame. The 
twenty years of his literary dictatorship were preceded 
by twenty-seven of drudgery work. In 1738 appeared 
his admirable satire entitled London, a revival of the 
third satire of Juvenal, in which the topics of the Ro¬ 
man poet are applied with surprising freedom, anima¬ 
tion, and felicity of language to English manners, and 
the corruptions of modern London society. The satire 
was followed by his Life of Savage ; and, in 1749, an¬ 
other admired imitation of Juvenal's tenth satire was 
published, entitled The t Vanity of Human Wishes. In 


254 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


the same year, liis tragedy of Irene, written before lie 
came to London, was produced at the Drury Lane 
Theatre. As it was destitute of simplicity and pathos, 
it was performed with but moderate applause, and has 
never since been revived. His Prologue on the Open¬ 
ing of the Drury Lane Theatre is one of the finest in 
our language. Between the years 1750 and 1752, 
Johnson was engaged in the compilation of a journal— 
or series of periodical essays—entitled The Rambler, 
written after the manner of The Spectator, but not so 
popular, on account of its too uniformly didactic and 
declamatory style. The same remaks will apply to 
The Idler, a publication on a similar plan, issued a few 
years later. The edition of Shakespeare, which he 
published in 1768, contains little that is valuable in the 
way of annotation ; but has a powerful and masterly 
Preface. The work for which Johnson is principally 
celebrated, and on which he had labored assiduously 
during seven years, is his Dictionary of the English 
Language, published in 1755. It ranks among our 
standard works, and is a noble monument of-individual 
learning, energy, and perseverance. The classical quo¬ 
tations which illustrate and exemplify the different sig¬ 
nifications of words, not only are complete and inter¬ 
esting in themselves, but moreover contain striking 
passages of poetry, pithy remarks, or historical facts. 
However, the want of philological research, and other 
defects rendered apparent by more recent investiga¬ 
tions, have somewhat lessened its original reputation. 
In 1750, appeared the Oriental tale entitled Rasselas, 
which he wrote in the nights of one week, to defray the 
expenses of his mother's funeral. As a representation 
of Eastern manners, it has no claim to our admiration ; 
but, as a series of moral essays on a variety of subjects, 
it merits more than a single perusal. Johnson is re- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 255 

ported to have said, that if he had seen the Candide of 
Voltaire, he should not have written Rasselas , as the 
two works go over the same ground. They both pict¬ 
ure a world full of misery and sin. But Voltaire 
uses the fact to excite a sneer at religion and Provi¬ 
dence ; Johnson, on the contrary, as an argument for 
our faith in a coming immortality. 

His Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland was 
published in 1775. It makes no pretensions to scien¬ 
tific discovery; but it is an entertaining and finely 
written work. Scotland owes to his complaints of the 
absence of trees some of her finest forests. 

Johnson’s last literary undertaking, and his best 
prose work, is his Lives of the Poets. It did not appear 
until 1781, but it show T s all the vigor of thought that 
distinguishes his earlier writings, with much more 
freedom of style and richness of illustration than any 
of them. With an occasional exhibition of political 
bias and strong prejudices, these Lives form a valua¬ 
ble addition to English biography and criticism. The 
work itself, however, was a bookseller’s speculation, and 
the choice of lives was determined by the likelihood of 
popularity. Mere rhymesters have found a place in 
his gallery, and some of the greatest names in our liter¬ 
ature have been omitted. 

The great influence which Johnson exercised, was 
due partly to his character, and partly to his mental 
power and his style. His manly appearance, his stern 
integrity, his love of argument and of society, his rep¬ 
artee and browbeating, all helped to make him a man 
of mark in his time. But his mind is scarcely to be 
seen in its full light, if we do not add to the produc¬ 
tions of his pen the record of his colloquial wit and 
eloquence, and the complete portraiture, both inward 


256 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


and outward, preserved in the pages of his biographer 
Boswell. 

In the capacity of author, it cannot be said that the 
world is indebted to him for many new truths; but he 
has given novel, and often forcible and elegant expres¬ 
sion to some old ones. No writer delivers moral max¬ 
ims and dictatorial sentences with greater force, or lays 
down definitions with more grave precision. His crit¬ 
ical acumen, setting aside personal and political preju¬ 
dices, was likewise very great; but he is utterly averse 
to the easy and familiar, both in style and sentiment. 
Ilis style formed an era in English composition. Its 
balanced pomp and antithetical clauses had with many 
an irresistible charm. The admiration for its exuber¬ 
ance of words of Latin etymology, and its sonorous 
rotundity of phrase, after having betrayed some writers 
into an injurious imitation, has at length subsided; 
whilst the limited influence which the old doctrine still 
exerts is not undeserved. The following just compar¬ 
ison has been drawn between him and the author of 
The Spectator: “ Addison lends grace and ornament 
to truth; Johnson gives it force and energy. Addi¬ 
son makes virtue amiable ; Johnson represents it as 
an awful duty. Addison insinuates himself with an 
air of modesty; Johnson commands like a dictator, but 
a dictator in his splendid robes, not laboring at the 
plough. Johnson is always profound, and of course 
gives the fatigue of thinking. Addison charms while 
he instructs; and writing, as he always does, a pure, 
elegant and idiomatic style, he may be pronounced the 
safer model for imitation.” 

As a man, Johnson possessed some admirable traits 
of character. His purse and his house were ever open 
to the indigent. His heart was tender to those who 
wanted relief, and his soul susceptible of gratitude and 


TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


257 


every kind impression. His veracity, in the most triv¬ 
ial as in the most solemn occasions, was strict even to 
severity. He scorned to embellish a story with ficti¬ 
tious circumstances; for “what is not a representation 
of reality,” he used to say, “ is not worthy of our atten¬ 
tion.” He had a roughness in his manner which sub¬ 
dued the bold and terrified the meek—but. it was only 
in his manner; for no man was loved more than 
Johnson by those that knew him. 

From the period when The Lives of the Poets were 
published, in 1781, his constitution began to decline, 
and a paralytic stroke, which affected his speech, was 
followed by an attack of dropsy. He had for many 
years been haunted by a morbid fear of death; but when 
at length the dreaded moment approached, the dark 
cloud passed away from his mind. “ His temper,” to 
use the language of Macaulay, “ became unusually pa¬ 
tient and gentle; he ceased to think with terror of 
death and of that which lies beyond death, and he 
spoke much of the mercy of God and of the propitia¬ 
tion of Christ.” In this serene frame of mind he died 
on the 13th of December, 1784. 

He was laid a week later in Westminster Abbey, 
among the eminent men of whom he had been the his¬ 
torian, Cowley and Denham, Dryden and Congreve,* 
Gay, Prior,! and Addison. 

THE EXCELLENCE OF SHAKESPEARE. 

.... Shakespeare is above writers, at least above all mod¬ 
ern writers, the poet of nature—that holds up to his readers a 

* William Congreve, a distinguished dramatist (1670-1723), has left five 
plays, of which one, The Mourning Bride , is a tragedy. Their licentious¬ 
ness has banished them from the stage. Congreve was the intimate friend 
of Dryden, and was appointed his literary executor. 

t Prior, Matthew (1664-1721), obtained some celebrity by his poetical works, 
especially his short, fugitive pieces. 

17 



258 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


faithful mirror of manners and of life. His characters are not 
modified by the customs of particular places, unpractised 
by the rest of the world; by the peculiarities of studies or 
professions, which can operate upon but small numbers; or 
( by the accidents of transient fashions or temporary opinions; 
they are the genuine progeny of common humanity, such as 
the world will always supply and observation will always find. 
His persons act and speak by the influence of those general 
passions and principles by which all minds are agitated, and 
the whole system of life is continued in motion. In the writ¬ 
ings of other poets, a character is too often an individual; in 
those of Shakespeare, it is commonly a species. 

It is from this wide extension of design that so much in¬ 
struction is derived. It is this which fills the plays of Shakes¬ 
peare with practical axioms and domestic wisdom. It was said 
of Euripides that every verse was a precept; and it may be 
said of Shakespeare, that from his works may be collected a 
system of civil and economical prudence; yet his real power 
is not shown in the splendor of particular passages, but by the 
progress of his fable and the tenor of his dialogue; and he 
that tries to recommend him by select quotations, will succeed, 
like the pedant in Hierocles, who when he offered his house 
for sale, carried a brick in his pocket as a specimen. 

PARALLEL BETWEEN POPE AND DRYDEN. 

Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, 
whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised 
through his whole life with unvaried liberality; and perhaps 
his character may receive some illustration, if he be compared 
with his master. .... 

In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed to 
Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and who, before 
he became an author, had been allowed more time for study, 
with better means of information. His mind has a larger 
range, and he collects his images and illustrations from a more 
extensive circumference of science. Dryden knew more of 
man in his general nature, and Pope in his local manners. 
The notions of Dryden were formed by comprehensive specu¬ 
lation ; those of Pope by minute attention. There is more 
dignity in the knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty in 
that of Pope. 

Poetry was not the sole praise of either, for both excelled 




THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


259 


likewiseiji prose; but Pope did not borrow bis prose from his 
predecessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied; 
that of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the mo¬ 
tions of his own mind; Pope constrains his mind to his own 
rules of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and 
rapid; Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden’s 
page is a natural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified 
by the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation; Pope’s is a 
velvet lawn, shaven by the scythe and levelled by the roller. 

Of genius—that power which constitutes a poet; that quality 
without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is inert; that 
energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates—the 
superiority must, with some hesitation, be allowed to Dryden. 
It is not to be inferred that of this poetical vigor Pope had 
only a little, because Dryden had more; for every other writer 
since Milton must give place to Pope; and even of Dryden it 
must be said, that if he has brighter paragraphs he has not 
better poems. Dryden’s performances were always hasty, 
either excited by some external occasion, or extorted by do¬ 
mestic necessity; he composed without consideration, and pub¬ 
lished without correction. Wliat his mind could supply at 
call, or gather in one excursion, was all that he sought and all 
that he gave. The dilatory caution of Pope enabled him to 
condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to accu¬ 
mulate all that study might produce or chance might supply. 
If the flights of Dryden therefore are higher, Pope continues 
longer on the wing. If of Dryden’s fire the blaze is brighter, 
of Pope’s the heat is more regular and constant. Dryden often 
surpasses expectation, and Pope never falls below it. Dryden 
is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with perpetual 
delight. 


LETTER TO THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. 

To the Bight lion., the Earl of Chesterfield: My Lord :—I have 
been lately informed by the proprietors of the World, that 
two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the 
public, were written by your Lordship. To be so distin¬ 
guished, is an honor which, being very little accustomed 
to favors from the great, I know not well how to receive, 
or in what terms to acknowledge. 

When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your 


260 


BRITLSH LITERATURE. 


Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the 
enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish, 
that I might boast myself le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre; 
that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world 
contending. But I found my attendance so little encouraged, 
that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. 
When I had once addressed your Lordship in public, I had 
exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and un- 
courtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I could; and 
no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so 
little. 

Seven years, my Lord, have now passed since I waited in 
your outward room, or was repulsed from your door; during 
which time, I have been pushing on my work through difficul¬ 
ties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at 
last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, 
one word of encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such 
treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before. 

The Shepherd in Virgil grew acquainted with Love, and 
found him a native of the rocks. 

Is not a patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on 
a man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has 
reached ground, encumbers him with help? The notice which 
you have been pleased to take of my labors, had it been early, 
had been kind: but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, 
and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; 
till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very 
cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit 
has been received; or to be unwilling that the public should 
consider me as owing that to a patron, which Providence has 
enabled me to do for myself. 

Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation 
to any favorer of learning, I shall not be disappointed, though 
I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have 
been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once 
boasted myself with so much exultation. 

My Lord, your Lordship’s most humble, 

And most obedient servant, 

Samuel Johnson. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


261 


PROLOGUE ON THE OPENING OF DRURY LANE THEATRE. 

When Learning’s triumph o’er her barbarous foes, 

First reared the stage, immortal Shakespeare rose; 

Each change of many-colored life he drew, 

Exhausted worlds and then imagined new. . . . 

Then Jonson came, instructed from the school 
To please on method and invent by rule; . . . 

Cold approbation gave the lingering bays 

For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise: . . . 

The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, 

Nor wished for Jonson’s art, or Shakespeare’s flame: 
Themselves they studied, as they felt they writ: 

Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. . . . 

The drama’s laws the drama’s patrons give, 

For we that live to please must please to live. 


William Robertson, 1721-1793. 

William Robertson, the contemporary and friend 
of Hume, was born at Borthwick, Scotland. Distin¬ 
guished for his eloquence as a Presbyterian preacher, 
he rose to be principal of the University of Edin¬ 
burgh. However, he cannot be said to have acquired 
great fame until the appearance, in 1759, of his His¬ 
tory of Scotland during the Reigns of Mary and James 
VI. The success of this work, which reached its four¬ 
teenth edition during the author's life, encouraged 
him to publish, in 1769, his History of the Reign of 
Charles V., and, eight years afterwards, The History 
of America. His latest work appeared in 1791, under 
the title of a Historical Disquisition concerning the 
Knoidedge which the Ancients had of India. Robert¬ 
son is admired for his distinctness of narrative, for 
skilful and luminous arrangement, and an elevated 
tone of feeling; but his statements cannot be relied 
on, either because he failed to obtain the best authorities, 
or because his false principles in religion distorted his 


262 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


sight. The motives which he assigns to many historical 
characters are often wide of the mark. The glaring errors 
of doctrine and of fact which abound in the Reign of 
Charles the Fifth caused the French translation of 1771 to 
be condemned by the Congregation of the Index. “ Robert¬ 
son’s style,” says F. Schlegel, “ is most attractive; his lan¬ 
guage select, and, though ornate, yet lucid and unaffected. 
His weak side is that which has regard to research and 
import, certainly the most important of all historical qual¬ 
ities. It is now universally admitted, even in England, that 
he is unreliable, superficial, and often full of errors.” 

CHARACTER OF CARDINAL XIMENES. 

(From the Reign of Charles V.) 

The singular character of this man, and the extraordinary 
qualities which marked him out for that office at such a 
juncture, merit a particular description. He was descended 
of an honorable, not of a wealthy family; and the circum¬ 
stances of his parents, as well as his own inclinations, having 
determined him to enter the Church, he early obtained benef¬ 
ices of great value, and which placed him in the way of the 
highest preferment. All these, however, he renounced at 
once; and, after undergoing a very severe novitiate, assumed 
the habit of St. Francis in a monastery of Observautine friars, 
one of the most rigid orders in the Romish * church. There he 
soon became eminent for his uncommon austerity of manners, 
and for those excesses of superstitious devotion which are the 
proper characteristics of the monastic life. But, notwithstand¬ 
ing these extravagances , to which weak and enthusiastic minds 
alone are usually prone , his understanding, naturally penetrat¬ 
ing and decisive, retained its full vigor, and acquired him 
such great authority in his own order, as raised him to be 
their provincial. His reputation for sanctity soon procured 
him the office of Father-Confessor to Queen Isabella, which he 
accepted with the utmost reluctance. He preserved in a 
court the same austerity of manners which had distinguished 
him in the cloister. He continued to make all liis journeys 
on foot; he subsisted only upon alms; liis acts of mortification 


* The italics are from the editor. 





THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


263 


were as severe as ever, and his penances as rigorous. Isabella, 
pleased with her choice, conferred on him, not long after, the 
archbishopric of Toledo, which, next to the papacy, is the 
richest dignity in the Church of Rome. This honor he de¬ 
clined with the firmness which nothing but the authoritative 
injunction of the pope was able to overcome. Nor did this 
height of promotion change his manners. Though obliged to 
display in public that magnificence which became his station, 
he himself retained his monastic severity. Under his pontif¬ 
ical robes, he constantly wore the coarse frock of St. Francis, 
the rents of which he used to patch with his own hands. He 
at no time used linen; but was commonly clad in hair-clotli. 
He slept always in his habit, most frequently on the ground, 
or on boards; rarely in a bed. He did not taste any of the 
delicacies which appeared at his table, but satisfied himself 
with that simple diet which the rule of his order prescribed. 
Notwithstanding these peculiarities, so opposite to the man¬ 
ners of the world, he possessed a thorough knowledge of its 
affairs; and no sooner was he called by his station, and by the 
high opinion which Ferdinand and Isabella entertained of him, 
to take a principal share in the administration, than he dis¬ 
played talents for business which rendered the fame of his 
wisdom equal to that of his sanctity. His political conduct, 
remarkable for the boldness and originality of all his plans, 
flowed from his real character, and partook both of its virtues 
and its defects. His extensive genius suggested to him 
schemes vast and magnificent. Conscious of the integrity 
of his intentions, he pursued these with unremitting and 
undaunted firmness. Accustomed from his early youth to 
mortify his own passions, he showed little indulgence to those 
of other men. Taught by his system of religion to check even 
his most innocent desires, he was the enemy of everything 
to which he could affix the name of elegance or pleasure. 
Though free from any suspicion of cruelty, he discovered in 
all his commerce with the world a severe inflexibility of mind, 
and austerity of character, peculiar to the monastic profession, 
and which can hardly be conceived in a country where that is 
unknown. 


Edward Gibbon, 1737-1794. 

Edward Gibbon, the learned author of the History of 
the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire , was born 


264 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


at Putney, near London, in 1737. Admitted at West¬ 
minster School, in 1749, he v/as three years later ma¬ 
triculated as a gentleman-commoner * of Magdalen Col¬ 
lege, Oxford. At the early age of sixteen, he was led 
by the perusal of the works of Bossuet and Parsons to 
abjure Protestantism, and embrace the Roman Catholic 
faith. His father, anxious to counteract the religious 
convictions of his son, sent him to reside with a Cal- 
vinistic minister in Switzerland, named Pavillard, who 
ultimately prevailed upon his pupil to return to Prot¬ 
estantism. In this second change, he became a ‘phi¬ 
losopher,’ as the term was then used to designate an infidel. 
“ All religions,” he tells us, “ were considered by the Roman 
people equally true, by the magistrate equally useful, by 
the philosophers equally false,” and this seems to have 
been his own creed: his infidelity takes the form of phi¬ 
losophical contempt. After an absence of nearly five 
years, he returned to England; and in 1761 appeared 
his Essai sur Vetude de la litter atnre, commended by 
foreign critics, but scarcely noticed at home. He sat 
in Parliament for eight years (1774-1782), a silent sup¬ 
porter of Lord North’s administration. For his obse¬ 
quiousness, he was made a member of the Board of 
Trade, with a yearly allowance of $3500. 

From the year 1768, Gibbon had devoted himself 
with zealous industry to the preparation of his great 
work: ‘ the labor of six quartos and twenty years ; 9 and, 
in 1776, he gave the first volume to the world. But, 
though the historian was warmly commended, the as¬ 
sailant of Christianity did not escape strong and mer¬ 
ited rebuke. Gibbon’s original purpose was to review 

* Most of the colleges in Oxford and Cambridge have, besides their de¬ 
pendent members, that is, those who are supported from the college funds, 
independent members, who live at their own expense, but are subject to 
most of the college laws: they are called, according to their rank and the 
sum they pay for board, noblemen, fellow-commoners, and commoners. 





THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 265 

the state and revolutions of the Roman city, from the 
twelfth to the sixteenth century. But the plan was 
greatly extended, and now his history commences with 
the reign of Trajan, (a.d. 98,) and ends with the fall 
of the Eastern Empire in 1453 : three supplemental 
chapters being devoted to his original theme. 

What first in this work strikes the intelligent reader, 
is the learning displayed, and the skill that employs it. 
The author paints scenery and manners with all the 
animation of an eye-witness. With religion alone he 
is never identified. He does not distinctly avow his 
disbelief, hut he attacks the Christian faith in the way 
which Byron has so justly described: 

‘ Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.’ 

Possessing neither depth nor nobleness of feeling, 
the writer elicits no generous emotion, while faults and 
omissions cast doubt on his honesty. When he rails at 
religion, the attempt to be witty is elaborate and awk¬ 
ward. Julian the Apostate is his idol. Let a Christian 
bishop or a religious king appear, and immediately he 
hints at enthusiasm, superstition, or roguery. His 
sneers and cavils leave their trail upon the purest 
virtue and the most exalted heroism. He endeavors to 
show that the Christian religion was established and 
spread without divine agency. In a word, these vol¬ 
umes of Gibbon are very dangerous to the faith, very 
offensive to the tastes, of a Christian soul. 

The style of Gibbon, though greatly admired, is 
always elaborate and pompous, often monotonous, and 
not free from a mixture of Gallic idioms. 

His death, which occurred in 1794, was occasioned 
by a sickness which he had endured for twenty-three 
years. Only a few hours before his death, he said that 
he thought himself good for ten, twelve, or perhaps 


266 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


twenty years. His miscellaneous works, with Memoirs 
of his life and writings composed by himself, were 
published in 1799, by his friend Lord Sheffield. 

zingis. 

From the spacious highlands between China, Siberia, and 
the Caspian Sea, the tide of emigration and war has repeatedly 
been poured. These ancient seats of the Huns and Turks 
were occupied in the twelfth century by many pastoral tribes, 
of the same descent and similar manners, which were united 
and led to conquest by the formidable Zingis. In his ascent to 
greatness, that barbarian (whose private appellation was Te- 
mugin) had trampled on the necks of his equals. His father 
had reigned over thirteen hordes, which comprised about 
thirty or forty thousand families: above two-tliirds refused to 
pay tithes or obedience to his infant son; and, at the age of 
thirteen, Temugin fought a battle against his rebellious sub¬ 
jects. The future conqueror of Asia was reduced to fly and to 
obey; but he rose superior to his fortune, and, in his fortieth 
year, he had established his fame and dominion over the cir¬ 
cumjacent tribes. In a state of society, in which policy is rude 
and valor universal, the ascendant of one man must be founded 
on his power and resolution to punish his enemies and recom¬ 
pense his friends. His first military league was ratified by the 
simple rites of sacrificing a horse, and tasting of a running 
stream: Temugin pledged himself to divide with his followers 
the sweets and the bitters of life; and when he had shared 
among them his horses and apparel, he was rich in their grat¬ 
itude and his own hopes. After his first victory, he placed 
seventy caldrons on the fire, and seventy of the most guilty 
rebels were cast headlong into the boiling water. The sphere 
of his attraction was continually enlarged by the ruin of the 
proud and the submission of the prudent, and the boldest chief¬ 
tains might tremble, when they beheld, enchased in silver, the 
skull of the khan of the Keraites. 

TIMOUR. 

The fame of Timour has pervaded the East and West: his 
posterity is still invested with the Imperial title ; and the ad¬ 
miration of his subjects, who revered him almost as a deity, 
may be justified in some degree by the praise or confession of 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


267 


liis bitterest enemies. Although he was lame of a hand and 
foot, his form and stature were not unworthy of his rank; and 
his vigorous health, so essential to himself and to the world, 
was corroborated by temperance and exercise. In his familiar 
discourse he was grave and modest, and if he was ignorant of 
the Arabic language, he spoke with fluency and elegance the 
Persian and Turkish idioms. It was his delight to converse 
with the learned on topics of history and science; and the 
amusement of his leisure hours was the game of chess, which 
he improved or corrupted with new refinements. In his relig¬ 
ion, he was a zealous, though not perhaps an orthodox, Mus¬ 
sulman; but his sound understanding may tempt us to believe, 
that a superstitious reverence for omens and prophecies, for 
saints and astrologers, was only affected as an instrument of 
policy. In the government of a vast empire, he stood alone and 
absolute, without a rebel to oppose his power, a favorite to 
seduce his affections, or a minister to mislead his judgment. 
It was his firmest maxim, that whatever might be the conse¬ 
quence, the word of the prince should never be disputed or re¬ 
called; but his foes have maliciously observed, that the com¬ 
mands of anger and destruction were more strictly executed 
than those of beneficence and favor. His sons and grandsons, 
of whom Timour left six-and-tliirty at his decease, were his 
first and most submissive subjects; and whenever they devi¬ 
ated from their duty, they were corrected, according to the 
laws of Zingis, with the bastinado, and afterwards restored to 
honor and command. To maintain the harmony of authority 
and obedience, to chastise the proud, to protect the weak, to 
reward the deserving, to banish vice and idleness from his do¬ 
minions, to secure the traveller and merchant, to restrain the 
depredations of the*soldier, to cherish the labors of the hus¬ 
bandman, to encourage industry and learning, and, bj an 
equal and moderate assessment, to increase the revenue with¬ 
out increasing the taxes, are indeed the duties of a prince; 
but, in the discharge of these duties, he finds an ample and 
immediate recompense. Timour might boast, that, at his 
accession to the throne, Asia was the prey of anarchy and 
rapine, whilst under his prosperous monarchy a child, fearless 
and unhurt, might carry a purse of gold from the East to the 
West. Such was his confidence of merit, that from this re¬ 
formation he derived an excuse for his victories, and a title to 
universal dominion. 


268 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Robert Burns, 1759-1796. 

Robert Burns, the most pathetic writer of any that 
Scotland has produced, was the son of a Presbyterian 
farmer. He received the best education the parish 
school could afford, and further improved his mind by 
giving to the Spectator, Pope, and Allan Ramsay, all 
the moments he could spare from the plough. To es¬ 
cape the ills of poverty and melancholy, the unfortunate 
poet had resolved on trying his fortune in Jamaica, 
when the popularity which clung at once around his 
name at the publication of his poems in 1786, altered 
his purpose. For two years, he was lionized by the 
most brilliant wits of the Scotch capital, who could not 
Avonder enough at the readiness and freshness of his 
com T ersation. He spent the rest of his life in his na¬ 
tive Ayr and at Dumfries, supported by the scanty rev¬ 
enue of seventy pounds which he derived from the 
office of exciseman in his own district. This office 
threw in his way a temptation to intemperance which 
he was not able to resist. He became literally a slave 
to drunkenness, until disease, poverty, disappointment, 
and self-reproach, brought him to an untimely grave. 

The poetical powers of Burns were of the highest 
order; but, for want of culture, leisure, and a high 
standard of morality, they failed to attain the culminat¬ 
ing -point of which they seemed to be capable. The 
profane love Avhich inspires many of liis songs, renders 
them unfit for perusal. He is at his best when he sings 
of his dear Scotia, ‘ loved at home, revered abroad/ and 
her f hardy sons of toil/ Most of his poems are in the 
Lowland dialect; but, when occasion demands, he 
knows how to dress beautiful thoughts in the purest 
English garb. About one hundred and fifty letters of 
Burns have been published with his poems. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


269 


EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

May , 1786. 

I. 

I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ Friend, 
A something to have sent you, 

Tho’ it should serve nae other end 
Than just a kind memento; 

But how the subject theme may gang, 
Let time and chance determine; 

Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

H. 

Ye’ll try the world fu’ soon, my lad, 
And, Andrew dear, believe me, 

Ye’ll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye: 

For care and trouble set your thought, 
E’en when your end’s attained; 

An a’ your views may come to nought, 
Where ev’ry nerve is strained. 

in. 

I’ll no say men are villains a’— 

The real, hardened, wicked; 

Wha hae nae check but human law 
Are to a few restricked: 

But ocli! mankind are unco weak, 

An’ little to be trusted: 

If self the wavering balance shake, 

It’s rarely right adjusted. 

IV. 

Yet they wha fa’ in fortune’s strife, 
Their fate we should na censure. 

For still tli’ important end of life 
They equally may answer; 

A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tlio’ poortitli hourly stare him; 

A man may tak a neebor’s part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 
v. 

Aye free, aff han’, your story tell, 

When wi’ a bosom crony; 


270 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


But still keep something to yoursel* 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 

Conceal yourseP as weePs ye can 
Frae critical dissection; 

But keek thro’ ev’ry other man, 

Wi ’ sharpen’d sly inspection. 

yi. 

The sacred lowe o’ weel placed love, 
Luxuriantly indulge it; 

But never tempt th’ illicit rove, 

Tho’ naething should divulge it: 

I waive the quantum o’ the sin, 

The hazard of concealing; 

But, och! it hardens a’ within, 

And petrifies the feeling! 

VII. 

To catch dame Fortune’s golden smile, 
Assiduous wait upon her: 

And gather gear by ev’ry wile 
That’s justified by honor; 

Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant; 

But for the glorious privilege 
Of being independent. 

VIII. 

The fear o’ hell’s a hangman’s whip, 
To haud the wretch in order; 

But where ye feel your honor grip, 

Let that aye be your border; 

Its slightest touches, instant pause— 
Debar a’ side pretences; 

And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 


IX. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature: 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 
And e’en the rigid feature: 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


271 


Yet ne’er with wits profane to range, 
Be complaisance extended; 

An’ atheist’s laugh’s a poor exchange 
For Deity offended. 


x. 

When ranting round in pleasure’s ring, 
Keligion may he blinded; 

Or, if she gie a random sting, 

It may he little minded; 

But when on life we’re tempest driven, 
A conscience but a canker— 

A correspondence fix’d wi’ Heav’n, 

Is sure a noble anchor! 


XI. 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth! 

Your heart can ne’er be wanting: 

May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting! 

In ploughman phrase, “ God send you speed,” 
Still daily to grow wiser; 

And may you better reck the rede, 

Than ever did tli’ adviser! 

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, 

Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent: 

But now your brow is held, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw; 

But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither; 

And mony a canty day, John, 

We’ve had wi’ ane anitlier. 

Now wc maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we’ll go: 

And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 


272 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Edmund Burke, 1730-1797. 

Edmund Burke, one of the greatest philosophic 
statesmen and orators of modern times, was horn in 
Dublin, in 1730. His father, Richard Burke, origi¬ 
nally a Catholic, became an apostate in order to retain 
the office of notary. The young Burke began his edu¬ 
cation with a Quaker. He studied afterwards at Trin¬ 
ity College, Dublin, and was also for some time at the 
English Catholic College of St. Omer. As a boy, he 
was distinguished for that devoted application to the 
acquisition of knowledge, and remarkable powers of 
comprehension and retention, which accompanied him 
through life. “ When we were at play,” remarked his 
brother Richard, “ he was always at work.” 

His first publication was anonymous, entitled A Vin¬ 
dication of Natural Society , by a late Noble 'writer. It 
was at the same time a wonderful imitation of Lord 
Bolingbroke's style and arguments, and an indirect 
refutation of that infidel lord's attack against revealed 
religion. The writer concluded from the abuses pervad¬ 
ing the state of society that man should rather return 
to the wild state of nature. The reader was expected 
to find this conclusion absurd; and, applying the same 
logic to religion, he would find it absurd also to reject 
Christianity, on account of the abuses that have crept 
among Christians. The imitation of the arguments 
and of the style of the infidel Bolinghroke was so per¬ 
fect that the public was absolutely deceived, not doubt¬ 
ing that the Vindication was a posthumous work of 
that late writer which he had not dared make known in 
his lifetime. In 1757, Burke published his Essay on 
the Sublime and Beautiful , which, by the elegance of 
its language and the spirit of philosophical investiga¬ 
tion displayed in it, placed him at once in the very first 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


273 


class of writers on taste and criticism. His object is 
to show that terror is the principal source of the sub¬ 
lime, and that the domain of beauty is grace, delicacy, 
and affection. There are in this essay many paradox¬ 
ical ideas, but in no other work of the kind can we find 
distinctions so nice, observations more just, or a style 
more elegant. 

It would carry us beyond the limits of our compila¬ 
tion, to give an outline of Burke’s parliamentary and 
political career. His life is the history of the times. 
In the prolonged contest between England and our 
own country, he devoted himself to the defence of the 
colonies. His advocacy of the freedom of the press, 
of Catholic emancipation, of economical reform, and of 
the abolition of the slave trade; and his great efforts 
on the impeachment of Warren Hastings, will forever 
identify his name with whatever is great, elevated, and 
just in statesmanship and legislation. 

His speeches and pamphlets on the French Revolu¬ 
tion, and especially his incomparable work, entitled 
Reflections on the Revolution in France , are perhaps as 
wonderful for their sagacity, their penetration, their 
intensity of predictive power, 

* The vision and tlie faculty divine,’ 

as they are admirable for the splendid eloquence of 
their expression. The distinguished F. Schlegel is en¬ 
thusiastic in his praise: “This man,” says he, “has 
been to his own country, and to all Europe—in a par 
ticular manner to Germany—a new light of political 
wisdom and moral experience. He corrected his age, 
when it was at the height of its revolutionary frenzy; 
and, without maintaining any system of philosophy, he 
seems to have seen farther into the true nature of so¬ 
ciety, and to have "more clearly comprehended the effect 
18 


274 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


of religion in connecting individual security witli na¬ 
tional welfare, than any philosopher or any system of 
philosophy of any succeeding age.” 

In 1785, he conceived the plan of the Annual Regis¬ 
ter, or Review of the civil, political, and literary trans¬ 
actions of the times, a periodical which has continued 
with success to the present day. 

His last production, the Letters on a Regicide Peace , 
published a few months before his death, is distin¬ 
guished by the same fervent eloquence, profound wis¬ 
dom, and far-seeing sagacity that characterized his 
earlier productions on the French Revolution. His 
writings are, indeed, the only political writings of a past 
age that continue to be read with interest in the pres¬ 
ent; and they are now perhaps more studied, and bet¬ 
ter appreciated, both for oratorical and philosophical 
worth, than when first produced. His eloquence ex¬ 
tended to all the details of every subject. His diction 
was as rich and varied as the matter; but the length 
of his speeches, their copiousness, abundance of orna¬ 
ment, and wide field of speculation, produced impa¬ 
tience in men of business absorbed in the particular 
subject of debate. 

Burke was ever the bold, uncompromising champion 
of justice, mercy, and truth. Impartial in his judg¬ 
ment, unswayed by every political doctrine, he as zeal¬ 
ously denounced that arbitrary power which oppressed 
the American colonies, as he rebuked that hurricane of 
fierce democracy which swept the throne and the altar 
from France, and involved the court and commonalty 
in general ruin. 

His domestic comfort was irretrievably impaired, and 
his life probably shortened by the death of his son, in 
1794. He thus adverts to his loss in his celebrated 
Letter to a noble Lord: “ I live iir an inverted order. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


275 


They who ought to have succeeded me, have gone be¬ 
fore me. They who should have been to me as pos¬ 
terity, are in the place of ancestors. The storm has 
gone over me; and I lie like one of those old oaks 
which the late hurricane hath scattered about me. I 
am stripped of all my honors: I am torn up by the 
roots, and lie prostrate on the earth! There, and pros¬ 
trate there, I must unfeignedly recognize the divine 
justice, and in some degree submit to it.” The three 
years during which he survived this bereavement, were 
principally employed in schemes and acts of benevo¬ 
lence and charity. He founded a school for the chil¬ 
dren of French Emigrants. Its permanent support 
formed one of his latest cares. He calmly expired at 
his country seat of Beaconsfield in July, 1797, retain¬ 
ing the perfect possession of his faculties to the last. 

QUALIFICATIONS FOR GOVERNMENT. 

(From Reflections on the Revolution in France.) 

There is no qualification for government but virtue and wis¬ 
dom, actual or presumptive. 

Wherever they are actually found, they have, in whatever 
state, condition, profession, or trade, the passport of Heaven 
to human place and honor. 

Woe to the country which would madly and impiously reject 
the service of the talents and virtues, civil, military, or relig¬ 
ious, that are given to grace and to serve it; and would con¬ 
demn to obscurity everything formed to diffuse lustre and 
glory around a state! Woe to that country, too, that, passing 
into the opposite extreme, considers a low education, a mean, 
contracted view of things, a sordid, mercenary occupation, as 
a preferable title to command! Everything ought to be open, 
but not indifferently, to every man. No rotation; no appoint¬ 
ment by lot; no mode of election operating in the spirit of 
sortition or rotation, can be generally good in a government 
conversant in extensive objects, because they have no tendency, 
direct or indirect, to select the man with a view to the duty, or 
to accommodate the one to the other. I do not hesitate to say, 


276 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


that the road to eminence and power, from o'! seure condition, 
ought not to be made too easy, nor a thing too much of course. 
If rare merit be the rarest of all rare things, it ought to pass 
through some sort of probation. 

The temple of honor ought to be seated on an eminence. If 
it be opened through virtue, let it be remembered, too, that 
virtue is never tyied but by some difficulty and some struggle. 

MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of 
France, then the Daupliiness, at Versailles; and surely never 
lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more 
delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorat¬ 
ing and cheering tlie elevated sphere she just began to move 
in,—glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendor, 
and joy. O! what a revolution! and what a heart must l have, 
to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall! 
Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to 
those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should 
ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace 
concealed in that bosom; little did I dream that I should have 
lived to see such disasters fallen upon her, in a nation of gal¬ 
lant men, in a nation of men of honor, and of cavaliers! I 
thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their 
scabbards, to avenge even a look that threatened her with as¬ 
sault. 

But the age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, econo¬ 
mists, and calculators, has succeeded: and the glory of Europe 
is extinguished forever. Never, never more, shall we behold 
that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, 
that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, 
which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an ex¬ 
alted freedom ! The unbouglit grace of life, the cheap defence 
of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, 
is gone! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity 
of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired cour¬ 
age whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it 
touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by los¬ 
ing all its grossness. 

William Cowper, 1731-1800. 

William Cowper, tlie poet of ordinary life and domes¬ 
tic emotions, was born in Hertfordshire, England, of 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


277 


an aristocratic family. He was one of the first among 
the English poets that ventured to describe those famil¬ 
iar thoughts and feelings, which are imagined by the 
word home, a word for which so many cultivated lan¬ 
guages have no equivalent. After his mother’s death, 
when he was hardly over six years of age, he was sent to 
a certain Dr. Titman’s school. There the timid, sensi¬ 
tive child was, for two years, subjected to many acts of 
cruelty at the hand of a senior scholar. He was after¬ 
wards removed to Westminster School, where, for seven 
years he enjoyed a comparatively pleasant time. His 
subsequent life was singularly unhappy, the greater part 
of it being clouded with insanity, brought on perhaps by 
a morbid timidity, and fostered by religious melancholy. 
Having imbibed the Calvinistic doctrine of election and 
reprobation in its most appalling rigor, he was led to a 
dismal state of apprehension; and it is said that the 
temporary derangement of his faculties was caused by 
his dread of the eternal judgment. His poetical genius 
was not exhibited until an unusually advanced age. 
He was fifty before he obtained any reputation as a 
writer. In 1781, he was induced to prepare a volume 
of Poems for the press. The principal topics are the 
Progress of Error, Truth, Expostulation, Hope, Char¬ 
ity, Retirement, and Conversation,—all of which are 
treated with originality and vigor of style. But the 
volume did not attract any great degree of popular at¬ 
tention. It is to the influence and suggestion of Lady 
Austen that we are indebted for the exquisitely humor¬ 
ous ballad of John Gilpin, and the author’s master¬ 
piece, The Task, published in 1785. This poem starts 
from a mock-heroic introduction giving a ludicrous 
account of the rise and origin of the sofa, and easily 
glides into exquisite descriptions of rural scenery and 
inimitable pictures of home-born and domestic happi- 


278 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ness. In the same year, was published his Tirocinium, 
a poem on the subject of education, intended to cen¬ 
sure the want of discipline and the inattention to mor¬ 
als which prevailed in public schools. Whatever may 
be thought of the discussions against public educa¬ 
tion, the poem abounds with striking observations. 
His Translation of Homer appeared in 1791. This 
work possesses much exactness as to the sense, and is 
certainly more literal than that of Pope; but Pope’s 
translation has remained up to this day the most popu¬ 
lar of all similar attempts in English. Prof. Oraik 
tries to account for Cowper’s failure by saying that he 
strained “to imitate a style not only unlike his own, 
but unfortunately quite as unlike that of his original: 
for these versions of the most natural of all poetry, 
the Homeric, are strangely enough attempted in the 
manner of the most artificial of all poets, Milton. ” Dis¬ 
appointed at the reception of this laborious work, he 
meditated a revision of it, and also a new didactic 
poem entitled The Four Ages. But although he occa¬ 
sionally wrote a few verses, and revised his Odyssey 
amidst his glimmerings of reason, those and all other 
undertakings finally gave way to a relapse of his mal¬ 
ady. His disorder continued with little intermission 
to the close of life, which, sad to relate, ended in a 
state of absolute despair, towards the beginning of the 
year 1800. His prose works are confined almost exclu¬ 
sively to his letters, which now occupy the very first 
rank in epistolary literature. 

Angus thus sums up the characteristics of his poe¬ 
try: “ The qualities which gave Cowper a high place 
in our poesy, it is not difficult to define. For humor 
and quiet satire, for appreciation of natural beauty 
and domestic life, for strong good sense and devout 
piety, for public spirit and occasional sublimity, for 


TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


279 


gentle and noble sentiment, for fine descriptive powers 
employed with skill on outward scenes and on char¬ 
acter, for ease and colloquial freedom of style, and for 
the strength and harmony of his later versification es¬ 
pecially, he has rarely been equalled, and for these 
qualities combined he has never been surpassed. . . . 
He is practically the founder of the modern school of 
poets—an honor he owes chiefly to his reality and nat¬ 
uralness. It is this excellence which gives attractive¬ 
ness fco all he has written. Pope’s poems are at least 
as finished as the best of Cowper’s, and more finished 
than most of his earlier pieces. Young is often as ap¬ 
parently religious, sometimes as merry, and certainly 
as witty. Thomson’s pictures of nature have greater 
variety and more ideal beauty than Cowper’s. But 
Pope’s poetry is art, Cowper’s nature. Young’s relig¬ 
ion and mirth seem to belong to two different men. 
From every line Cowper has written, the very man 
beams forth, always natural, consistent, and unaf¬ 
fected; . . the poet lives and moves in every scene.” 

BOADICEA. 

An Ode. 

When the British warrior queen, 

Bleeding from the Roman rods, 

Sought with an indignant mien 
Counsels of her country’s gods, 

Sage beneath the spreading oak 
Sat the Druid, hoary chief, 

Every burning word he spoke 
Full of rage and full of grief: 

“Princess, if our aged eves 

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 

’Tis because resentment ties 
All the terrors of our tongues. 

Rome shall perish—write that word— 

In the blood that she has spilt— 


280 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Perish, hopeless and abhorred, 

Deep in ruin as in guilt. 

Rome, for empire far renowned, 

Tramples on a thousand states; 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground— 
Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates! 

Other Romans shall arise, 

Heedless of a soldier’s name; 

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize; 
Harmony, the path to fame. 

Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land, 

Armed with thunder, clad with wings, 

Shall a wider world command. 

Regions Caesar never knew 
Thy posterity shall sway ; 

Where his eagles never flew, 

None invincible as they.” 

Such the bard’s prophetic words, 

Pregnant with celestial fire, 

Bending as he swept the cords 
Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She, with all a monarch’s pride, 

Felt them in her bosom glow; 

Rushed to battle, fought and died; 

Dying, hurled them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud, 

Pleaven awards the vengeance due; 

Empire is on us bestowed, 

Shame and ruin wait for you. 

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER’S PICTURE. 

****** 
My mother, when I learnt that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o’er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life’s journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss, 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss— 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


281 


Ah ! that maternal smile !—it answers—Yes. 

I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 

And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu. 

But was it such?—It was.—Where thou art gone, 

Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

The parting words shall pass my lips no more. 

Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 

Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 

What ardently I wished, I long believed, 

And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 

By expectation every day beguiled, 

Dupe of to-morrow even of a child. 

Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 

Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 

I learned at last submission to my lot; 

But, though I less deplored thee, ne’er forgot. 

OTHER WRITERS. 

Gilbert Burnett (1613-1715) was the son of Scotch Presbyterian parents. 
He became minister, and, later on, bishop in the Anglican Establishment. He 
took an active part in the politics of his time, and was very efficient in bring¬ 
ing about the accession of William and Mary to the throne of England. He 
wrote many works of history, of which the two most important are The His¬ 
tory of the Reformation of the Church of England , and the History of his 
own Times. He is an extreme partisan. His slanders of the Catholic Church 
are so glaring that even some of his Protestant contemporaries, Wharton, 
for instance, exposed his errors. Of the History of his own Times, Dr. John¬ 
son has said : “ I do not believe that Burnett intentionally lied ; but he was so 
much prejudiced that he took no pains to find out the truth.” Macaulay, as 
a good Whig, defends the accuracy of his brother Whig. 

Robert South (1633-1716) was a favorite preacher at the court of Charles 
II. A zealous Royalist and Episcopalian, he visited republicans and dissent¬ 
ers with a satire always vigorous, if not always befitting in a minister of the 
Gospel. 

Rev. Thomas Parnell (1679-1718), an intimate friend of Swift and Pope, 
was a native of Ireland. He wrote many poems, some of which, as Night- 
piece on Death, Hymn to Contentment, The Hermit , were much admired in 
the last century. The Hermit , however, is the only one that still enjoys pop¬ 
ular favor. The plan is not original, but may be traced to the Koran. 

John Gay (1688-1732) holds a distinguished rank in literature for his inter¬ 
esting Fables. Another work of Gay, The Beggar's Opera, the leading per¬ 
sonages of which are thieves and robbers, has justly been condemned for its 
licentiousness. 

Richard Bentley (1663-1742), Master of Trinity College, and Regius Pro 


282 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


fessor of Divinity at Cambridge, was one of the greatest classical scholars 
and critics that England ever produced. His chief work is his Dissertation 
on the Epistles of Phalaris , and the Fables of TEsop, in which he attempts 
to prove that the iEsopian Fables were not ACsop’s, and that the Epistles of 
Phalaris were a modern forgery. Almost single-handed, Bentley withstood 
the efforts of a crowd of opponents, Atterbury, Hon. Charles Boyle, Conyers 
Middleton, Pope, Swift, and Oxford men generally. Bentley's editions of 
Horace and Terence did not diminish his reputation, but he failed ludicrously 
in his proposed emendations of Milton's Paradise Lost. Bentley had also 
formed the design, which he did not cany out, of amending the Greek text 
of the New Testament through the Latin Vulgate. 

Henry Fielding (1707-1754), an English lawyer of family, but reckless, dis¬ 
sipated, and extravagant, shares with Richardson the highest rank among 
the novel-writers of the last century. He first wrote for the stage as a means 
of support, and produced a large number of plays which had no success at 
the time, and are now forgotten. When Richardson's Pamela appeared, 
Fielding wrote his Joseph Andrews to mock at the lessons of virtue which 
the former had meant to impress upon the public. The great success of 
Joseph Audrey's paved the way for Tom Jones , which is considered his mas¬ 
terpiece. He wrote other novels, as Jonathan Wild and Amelia , and many 
political pamphlets in defence of the Hanoverian dynasty. The pages of 
Fielding are so marred by the coarseness of the pictures and the indelicacy 
of the language, that they are not fit reading for virtuous people. 

Allan Ramsay (168o- 17'58), a Scotch poet of great merit, wrote The Gentle 
Shepherd , a pastoral drama, of which the principal fault is to be written in 
the Scottish dialect. It is of this poem that Boswell spoke to Johnson as 
the best pastoral ever written, and, as he offered to teach the gruff Doctor to 
understand it, he elicited this characteristic answer : “ No, sir, I won’t 
learn it. You shall retain your superiority by my not knowing it.” 

William Shenstone (1714-1763) is the author of the Pastoral Ballad, looked 
upon by many as the best specimen in English of this kind of poetiy. 

Samuel Richardson (1689-1767) is one of the great novelists of the eight¬ 
eenth century. His first novel, Pamela, or , Virtue Rewarded , was published 
in 1740, and at once enjoyed an immense popularity; but its successors, 
Clarissa Harlowe , or, The History of a Young Lady, and Sir Charles Grandi- 
son, are in reality his masterpieces. Although Richardson is credited to 
have aimed at promoting good morals, and Pope, in his infatuation, declared 
that Pamela would do more good than twenty sermons, it cannot be denied 
that his novels are licentious. Besides, he is too sentimental, his descriptions 
are too lengthy, his style too common. 

Laurence Sterne (1713-1768) was born at Clonmel, in Ireland, but was edu¬ 
cated in England. He still lives in literature by his two novels, Tristram 
Shandy, and his Sentimental Journey , in which the want of plot is supplied 
by the humor of the characters. Slanderous representations of the Catholic 
Church and indecent hints betray the wolf in sheep's clothing, and ‘ the 
profligate hidden in the parson’s gown.' 

Mark Akenside (1721-1770) is well remembered for his didactic poem, The 
Pleasures of Imagination. 

Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770) was that wonderful boy of Bristol who 
passed off on the public his own poems, sermons, and other writings, for 
manuscripts of the fifteenth century. At seventeen, he tried his^ fortune in 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


283 


London, but there became a prey to all evils,—infidelity, intemperance, pov¬ 
erty, disappointment,—to which he sadly put the climax by committing 
suicide, at the age of nineteen. 

Tobias George Smollett (1721-1771) was a sour-tempered Scotchman, who, 
after unsuccessful attempts in the dramatic, surgical, and medical art, at 
last became an author by profession. Great was the success of his first 
novel, Roderick Random , and greater still was that of the next two, Pere¬ 
grine Pickle and Humphrey Clinker ; unfortunately, they are disfigured by 
gross licentiousness. His pen continued to be busy with a translation of 
Don Quixote , the editing of the Critical Review , and a Complete History of 
England brought down to the year 1768, but of inferior merit. 

Alban Butler (1700-1773) is a name familiar to all Catholic readers. He 
was descended from a family once highly connected and wealthy, but, at the 
time of his birth, reduced to slender circumstanc ;s. At Douay College, 
where he spent many years as pupil and teacher, he was unrelenting in his 
application to study, and thus laid the basis of that vast erudition on almost 
every subject, which marked him out as one of the most learned men of his 
time. His love of literary pursuits did not, however, infringe upon his relig¬ 
ious duties anchdevotional exercises. About the year 1746, Rev. Alban Butler 
was sent on the English mission, and soon after became chaplain and tutor 
to the young Duke of Norfolk. After the expulsion of the Jesuits from 
France, he was appointed President of the English College at St. Omer, and 
filled that position till his death in 1773. 

Among the minor works written by Alban Butler, we may mention his 
Travels through France and Italy , The Life of Mary of the Cross, three vol¬ 
umes of Sermons or Pious Discourses , and Feasts and Fasts , left incom¬ 
plete. But the great monument of his learning, the result of thirty years’ 
labor, is his Lives of the Saints. This is a comprehensive account of the 
principal saints of all climes and ages. The narrative is interspersed with 
learned, judicious, edifying remarks, and accompanied with notes relating 
to many subjects of historical interest. To use the words of the learned 
Bishop Doyle, “ it presents to the reader a mass of general information, di¬ 
gested and arranged with an ability and a candor never surpassed.” The 
author draws his materials from original sources, and, far from being too 
credulous, is rather strict in his admission of miracles. The cold and nar¬ 
row criticism of the eighteenth century, which tried to do away with so 
many miracles in the lives of the saints, may be traced even in so religious a 
writer as Butler. He has the merit of simplicity and terseness of style ; but 
in his efforts to be short, he loses some of the charm which in the lives of 
great men, and especially of saints, clings to the abundance of detail. The 
Lives of the Saints will transmit the name of Alban Butler to many future 
generations of English-speaking Catholics. 

Richard Challoner (1691-1781), vicar-apostolic of the London District, 
was converted to the Catholic faith when yet very young. At the age of 
thirteen, he was sent to Douay, where, after his ordination, his superior 
merits caused him to be retained nearly twenty years. As a missioner, and 
afterward as a bishop, he was an admirable example of devotedness to duty, 
and yet he could find time to write works of great usefulness. In 1737, he 
published the Catholic Christian Instructed in answer to Dr. Conyers Mid¬ 
dleton's Conformity between Popery and Paganism. The reply of the latter 
consisted in a prosecution of Challoner, which obliged him to take refuge on 


284 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


the Continent. Challoner composed many other writings in defence of 
Catholic truth. His Meditations for Every Day in the Year , and his Think 
Well On't, are household books of devotion, which have elicited the admira¬ 
tion of every candid Protestant. In history, we are indebted to Dr. Chal¬ 
loner for the valuable Memoirs of Missionary Priests and other Catholics 
that have Suffered Death in England on Religious Accounts , from the Year 
1577 to 1G84. He gives us an account of 180 martyrs who suffered during the 
reign of Elizabeth alone. These Memoirs are a monument to the accuracy, 
research, and moderation of their author. The style, suited to this kind of 
narrative, is simple and concise. 

Another important work of Dr. Challoner is his revision of the Rheims- 
Douay Bible, in which he substituted modern for antiquated terms. His re¬ 
vision is generally used by Catholics, but the admirers of the old Anglo- 
Saxon would willingly return to the earlier version. 

The last sixteen years of the good bishop's life were years of trial and 
affliction. The active prosecutions of informers, especially of one Payne, 
lesulted in heavy fines, the closing of many chapels, the scattering of priests 
and people. To crown these evils, the clamor of intolerance and fanaticism 
brought about the famous Gordon Riots of 1780. The sight o& ruined chap¬ 
els seems to have been the death-blow of the venerable bishop. 

Horace Walpole (1717-1797), the third son of Robert Walpole, the cele¬ 
brated statesman, deserves to be mentioned for his Letters and Memoirs of 
his own time. His style is racy and sparkling. 

Section the Fourth, 1800 - 1885 . 

Intellectual activity, a spirit of honest research, a 
passion for liberty, a certain eagerness to fathom all 
mysteries, or throw off what human reason cannot com¬ 
prehend, are prominent characteristics of the nine¬ 
teenth century, which we must expect to find expressed 
in its literature. Impatient of the artificial restraints 
to which it had been subjected till nearly the end of 
the eighteenth century, poetry sought inspiration in 
the freedom of nature. The romantic themes of chiv- 
alric ages awakened the muse of Scott, and later on, of 
Tennyson. Byron, in spite of his waywardness, depicted 
in passionate accents the grandeurs of nature and of 
art. The ethereal music of Shelley, the classic beauty 
of Keats, the weirdness of Coleridge, the patriotic mel¬ 
odies of Moore, the lyric strains of Campbell, and the 
sympathetic pictures of Wordsworth—all had their in¬ 
spiration in physical or moral nature as viewed or felt 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


285 


by each bard. Our only regret is that much of this 
galaxy of poetry conceals under its attractive form 
most pernicious errors, false sentiments, dangerous the¬ 
ories, open or covert attacks against the Church of 
Christ. Two or three poets alone of any eminence 
have drawn inspiration from the purest sources of 
Christianity, and diffused around them the perfume of 
Catholic ideas. -If from poetry we pass to fiction, we 
find an immense harvest-field in which Scott leads the 
way, closely followed by Dickens and Thackeray, whilst 
legions of others after these glean more or less honor. 

In history, Lingard for the first time brought before 
the public mind an interesting, authentic, and strictly 
impartial account of British affairs during seventeen 
centuries. In criticism, the long essay was introduced 
by the Edinburgh Review, and soon used as a mode to 
treat all questions—religious, moral, political, or liter¬ 
ary ; and such was the impetus given by Jeffrey, Syd¬ 
ney Smith, and Macaulay, that Reviews sprang up in 
every quarter and became of paramount importance in 
the world of letters. Different from this was a desul¬ 
tory kind of essay, almost identified with the name of 
Charles Lamb, in which humor is the principal factor, 
and the subject is as manifold as the caprice of the 
writer. In science-literature, Darwin, Tyndall, Spen¬ 
cer, and Huxley, men of profound scientific attain¬ 
ments, have made the fascinating beauty of their style 
subservient to the spreading of many false and infidel 
theories. In art-literature, Ruskin has attained an 
eminence only to be compared with that of Cardinal 
Newman in the field of theology. Thus our language, 
moulded by Shakespeare and his contemporaries, pol¬ 
ished and refined by Pope and Addison, has reached in 
this century its zenith of excellence. “ There never 
was a time when men wrote so much and so well. 


286 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


and that without being of very great account them¬ 
selves. . . . What our writers lack is that individuality, 
that earnestness, most personal yet unconscious of self, 
which is the greatest charm of an author.”* Unfort¬ 
unately, both our prose and poetry are largely per¬ 
vaded by an anti-Christian spirit, which gives to every 
new theory the dignified name of progress. Nature is 
worshipped by some, and humanity by others; revela¬ 
tion is treated as a myth; God is the unknowable; 
there is no objective truth. Uncertainty, scepticism, 
sentimentality, have taken hold of the modern mind. 
For us Catholics, when we see the inextricable maze of 
error in which others are entangled, we should revere 
and love the more our infallible guide. 

Catholic literature, distinctly as such, has also made 
considerable advance, owing to several circumstances. 
First, the Catholic Emancipation, after three hundred 
years of more or less active persecution, opened new fa¬ 
cilities for the removal of prejudice and the expression 
of truth ; and next, the masterly writings of Lingard 
and Wiseman, the foundation of the Dublin Review f 
and the London Tablet, and the Oxford Movement with 
numerous conversions of Anglicans,t headed by New¬ 
man, contributed to form a school of writers who have 
become the natural exponents of rational and revealed 


* Card. Newman’s Idea of a University, p. 327 and fol. 
t The Dublin Review was founded, in 1836, by Michael J. Quin, with the co¬ 
operation of Cardinal Wiseman and Daniel O'Connell. The Cardinal was, up 
to his death, the presiding spirit and an active contributor of the Review. 
With peculiar solicitude he bequeathed his trust to Cardinal Manning. For 
sixteen years, 1863-1879, Dr. Ward worthily occupied the editorial chair, es¬ 
pecially contributing articles of a controversial and philosophical kind. 
The London Tablet, the most eminent Catholic weekly published in English, 
was started in 1840. 

t Between the years 1840 and 1852, ninety-two members of the University 
of Oxford and forty-three of the University of Cambridge, entered the Cath¬ 
olic Church. Of the former, sixty-three were clergymen, and of the latter, 
nineteen.” Alzog’s Church History, vol. iii., p. 375. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


287 


truth. How far their influence on English literature 
is destined to extend, it is impossible to conjecture. 

John Keats, 1795-1821. 

John Keats was a premature genius, who, though 
prevented by death from reaching the fulness of his 
powers, yet has impressed his influence on English 
poetry. His circumstances did not allow him the ad¬ 
vantages of a University ; and the knowledge of the 
classics which he obtained at school was very meagre, 
little Latin and no Greek. On leaving school, he was 
apprenticed to a surgeon ; but the delights he took in 
Chaucer and Spenser, revealed to him his more con¬ 
genial vocation for poetry. A first volume of poems 
was hardly noticed by the public. In 1817, he wrote 
Endymion , a Poetical Romance , the largest of his works. 
The extreme violence with which it was attacked by 
Gifford in the London Quarterly Keview, deeply 
wounded the keen sensibility of the poet. His other 
poems are Lamia , a strange tale of Grecian mythology; 
Isabella , founded on a tale from Boccaccio ; The Eve of 
St. Agnes , a romantic story, as improbable in the inci¬ 
dents as beautiful in diction ; Hyperion , which, though 
a mere fragment, is considered as the most polished of 
his writings ; and his Miscellaneous Poems. Among 
these last are his odes, sonnets, and grateful lines to his 
old preceptor. 

“ The chief characteristic of Keats’s poetry is the 
intensity with which it expresses the sense of beauty. 

. . . There is about his later works a classical repose 
and a handling at once light and strong.” * His verse, 
untrammelled by the rules of the couplet, moves along 
in, a variety of harmonious and majestic cadences. 


* Aubrey de Vere. 




288 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


It is a wonder that Keats, with his little knowledge 
of Greek mythology, showed a preference for Greek 
themes, and entered so thoroughly into the spirit of the 
Greek masters. But he was, by instinct and sympathy, 
a Greek. Nature, for him, was not, as it is for a 
Christian, an image, faint and partly effaced, of its Al¬ 
mighty Creator ; but it was an idol before which, like 
the Greeks of old, he knelt and adored. 

Keats had entered his twenty-sixth year, when liter¬ 
ary disappointment, and grief for unrequited love, com¬ 
bined with hereditary consumption to bring him to an 
untimely grave. 


TO AUTUMN. 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; 

Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
With fruit the vines that round the thatcli-eaves run; 
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-tree, 

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, 

And still more, later flowers for the bees, 

Until they think warm days will never cease, 

For summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? 

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may And 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 

Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, 

Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; 
And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep 
Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 

Or by a cider-press, with patient look, 

Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 

Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ? 
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


289 


While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
Among the river sallows, borne aloft 
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft 
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft, 

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792-1823. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley, the oldest son of a baronet, 
was a poet of rare genius, but of a genius shooting 
wild and utterly missing the great aims of human life. 
While yet a schoolboy, he wrote two romances, and, at 
eighteen, was expelled from Oxford for his Defence of 
Atheism. A few -months afterwards, he published 
Queen Mob, in which he scouts at the popular idea of 
God, and makes Necessity, or the Spirit of Nature, his 
own god. His Revolt of Islam is a considerable poem, 
in the Spenserian stanza, picturing the struggle of an 
agitated people against the institutions which it pre¬ 
viously held sacred. Prometheus Unbound, a lyrical 
drama in four acts, well expresses the spirit of its 
author, defiant of all authority; while Alastor , or, the 
Spirit of Solitude, reveals a soul restlessly pursuing a 
happiness which is ever beyond its grasp. The trag¬ 
edy of The Cenci rehearses crimes so repulsive and 
sickening that it has never been represented on the 
stage. All the larger works of Shelley exhibit him as 
a wild declaimer against the inequality of conditions 
among men, and a utopian advocate of equal distribu¬ 
tion of labor and reward: happily they have never found 
many readers. Adonais is a lament in fifty-five Spen¬ 
serian stanzas over the untimely death of Keats. 
Among his shorter poems, The Sensitive Plant, The 
19 


290 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Skylark , and The Cloud, are lyrics unequalled for im¬ 
aginative beauty of thought and language. “ Shelley’s 
versification is exquisitely free, varied, and musical, 
and his diction natural, yet richly poetical, and only 
obscured by the intensity and the subtlety of his imagi¬ 
nation.”* He is the most ethereal of our poets, and 
yet beyond nature he saw nothing, not even the God of 
nature, much less the God of revelation—a sad exam¬ 
ple of human reason relying upon itself alone. Shelley 
spent the last four years of his life in Italy. He had 
not quite reached his thirty-first birthday, when, in 
1823, he was drowned by the capsizing of his boat in 
the Gulf of Spezzia. 


THE CLOUD. 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 
From the seas and the streams; 

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 
In their noonday dreams. 

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 
The sweet buds every one, 

When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast, 

As she danees about the sun. 

1 wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 

And then again I dissolve in rain, 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast; 

And all the night ’tis my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 

Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, 
Lightning, my pilot, sits; 

In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 

It struggles and howls at fits; 

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 


* Eng. Lit. by R. M. Johnston and W. H. Browne. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


291 


Lured by the love of the genii that move 
In the depths of the purple sea; 

Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 

Over the lakes and the plains, 

Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The spirit he loves remains; 

And I all the while bask in heaven’s blue smile, 

Whilst he is dissolving in rain. 

I bind the sun’s throne with a burning zone, ‘ 

And the moon’s with a girdle of pearl; 

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 
AVlien the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 

From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea, 

Sunbeam-proof I hang like a roof, 

The mountains its columns be. 

The triumphal arch through which I march 
With hurricane, fire, and snow, 

AVlien the powers of the air are chained to my chair, 

Is the million-colored bow; 

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, 

AVliile the moist earth was laughing below. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 

And his burning plumes outspread, 

Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 

AA T hen the morning-star shines dead; 

As on the jag of a mountain crag, 

AVhich an earthquake rocks and swings, 

An eagle alit one moment may sit 
In the light of its golden wings. 

And when sunset may breathe from the lit sea beneath, 
Its ardors of rest and love, 

And the crimson pall of eve may fall 
From the depth of heaven above, 

AVitli wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, 

AVliom mortals call the moon, 

Glides glimmering o'er my fieece-like floor, 

By the midnight breezes strewn; 


292 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


And whenever the heat of her unseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear, 

May have broken the woof Of my tent’s thin roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer; 

And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 

Like a swarm of golden bees, 

When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 

Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I am the daughter of earth and water, 

And the nursling of the sky; 

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 

I change, but I cannot die. 

For after the rain, when, with never a stain, 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 

And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, 
Build up the blue dome of air, 

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 
I arise and unbuild it again. 

OZYMANDIAS. 

I met a traveller from an antique land, 

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, 

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed; 
And on the pedestal these words appear: 

“ My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair ! ” 

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare 
The lone and level sands stretch far away. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


293 


George Gordon Byron, 1788-1824. 

George Gordon Byron, a poet of elevated genius, 
was born in London in 1788. At the age of seventeen, 
he was entered at Trinity College, Cambridge, where 
his impatience under restraint and faults against dis¬ 
cipline drew upon him much unavoidable rebuke ; and 
where he wasted the hours which, if properly em¬ 
ployed, would have secured him a solid foundation of 
learning, instead of habits of reckless profligacy. He 
quitted college after two years, and took up his resi¬ 
dence at the family scat of Newstead Abbey.* Whilst 
at his homestead, he prepared for publication his ear¬ 
liest production under the title of Hours of Idleness , 
a collection of fugitive poems, original and translated, 
in no way remarkable ; and chiefly remembered on 
account of the castigation it received from the Edin¬ 
burgh Review, and his own pungent retort entitled 
English Bards and Scotch Revieicers. The first two 
cantos of Childe Harold were published in the spring 
of 1812. This poem, in whose numbers the Spenserian 
stanza is felicitously revived, was received at once with 
the utmost enthusiasm. “ I awoke,” says the author, 
“one morning, and found myself famous.” In May of 
the next year, appeared his Giaour ; in November, The 
Bride of Ahydos; and three months afterwards, The 
Corsair. These narrative poems, with the exception 
of The Corsair, are written in the irregular-rhymed 
metres which Scott brought into fashion. They 
have rarely any pretensions to ingenuity of plot, or 
connected development of incident. They have no 
variety of character, and are rather delineations of 


* Newstead Abbey, originally an Augustinian monastery, founded by 
Henry H., and granted by Henry VIII. to John Byron, at the time of the 
spoliation of the monasteries. Of the abbey church, only one end remains* 



294 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


moments of intense passion in Oriental life. During 
his residence in the neighborhood of Geneva, he pro¬ 
duced the third canto of Oh tide Harold, and the Pr is¬ 
oner of Ghillon, a painful story told with inimitable 
tenderness. The short poem of Bepjjo appeared in 
1818. His dramas, most of which are declamatory 
and undramatic, some of them, as Cain and Man¬ 
fred, exhibiting a mocking sceptical spirit, were writ¬ 
ten whilst he resided at Ravenna. Byron's genius 
was singularly deficient in scenic power, principally 
from his want of variety in all his attempts at creating 
character. 

At length appeared the concluding canto of Cliilde 
Harold. His first design had been to imitate in this 
poem, not only the stanza, but also the quaint and 
antiquated air of The Fairie Queene. The very title, 
Cliilde, which, in old legendary language, signifies 
knight, is a proof of this. However, he soon aban¬ 
doned this forced masquerade of diction. Harold, the 
hero of the poem, is an exhausted, disappointed liber¬ 
tine, who recklessly wanders over the earth ; but who 
is sometimes capable of being roused for a moment, by 
contempt or admiration, by the base or the beautiful, 
by patriotism or by despair. The pictures of nature, 
of man, of society, which crowd the four cantos, are 
not surpassed in English or any other literature. The 
poem begins and ends with the ocean, to whose ma¬ 
jestic undulations and changing aspects of gloom and 
sunshine, of calm and tempest, of melancholy grand¬ 
eur and immeasurable depth, it bears no faint simili¬ 
tude. 

The extraordinary poem that closed his literary ca¬ 
reer, Don Juan, is the most complete embodiment of 
all the discordant elements of this poet’s wayward life. 
The primary characteristic of Don Juan is a rapid and 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


295 


incessant alternation of the severest satire and the 
most comic impressions, with images the most sol¬ 
emn and pathetic. There can be but one opinion of 
the intensity of the wit and the absence of humor ; but 
the wit is of the cold and caustic character of Beau¬ 
marchais and Voltaire. The poem is fatally marred 
by a coarseness of narrative which no art can redeem, 
and a grossness of obscenity which has entailed a last¬ 
ing stigma on the poet’s memory. 

The genius of Lord Byron is one of the most re¬ 
markable in our literature for originality, versatility, 
and energy. This last is his most striking quality; 
“thoughts that breathe and words that burn” are the 
common staple of his poetry. He is everywhere im¬ 
pressive ; and his poems abound in sentiments of great 
dignity and tenderness, as well as in passages of rare 
sublimity and beauty. But what renders his writings 
in the highest degree pernicious, is, in the judgment 
of Lord Jeffrey, their tendency to destroy all belief in 
the reality of virtue, and to make all enthusiasm and 
consistency of affection ridiculous. The following 
opinion of the character of Byron’s poetry is from the 
pen of Lord Macaulay: “Never had any writer so 
vast a command of the whole eloquence of scorn, mis¬ 
anthropy, and despair. His principal heroes are men 
who have arrived by different roads at the same goal of 
despair ; who are sick of life ; who are at war with so¬ 
ciety ; who are supported in their anguish only by an 
unquenchable pride, resembling that of Prometheus on 
the rock, or of Satan in the burning marl ; who can 
master their agonies by the force of their will, and who, 
at the last, defy the whole power of earth and heaven. 
He always described himself as a man of the same kind 
with his favorite creations ; as a man whose heart had 
been withered, whose capacity for happiness was gone, 


296 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


and could not be restored ; but whose invincible spirit 
dared the worst that could befall him here or here¬ 
after.” “His works,” says Cleveland, “cannot as a 
whole be read without the most injurious influence 
upon the moral sensibilities.” He should be read only 
in expurgated editions. 

In 1823, Byron hired an English vessel, and sailed for 
Cephalonia, in order to aid in the deliverance of Greece 
from the Mahometan thraldom. But being foiled in 
his plans, he became the vietkn of disappointment and 
chagrin. His constitution gave way, he was attacked by 
fits of epilepsy, and, in April, 1824, he breathed his last.. 
His body was brought to England, and interred near his 
own seat of Newstead Abbey, where a plain marble slab 
merely records his name, title, date of death, and age. 

APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN. 

Foil on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll ! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 

Man marks the earth with ruin—his control 
Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own, 

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan— 

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoflined, and unknown. 

His steps are not upon thy paths—thy fields 

Are not a spoil for him—thou dost arise 

And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 

For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise, 

Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 

And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray, 

And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay, 

And dashest him again to earth : there let him lay. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


297 


And monarclis tremble in their capitals; 

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title lake 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: 

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 

They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada’s pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 
Thy waters wasted them while they W'ere free, 

And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou; 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play. 

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: 

Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form 
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, 

Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-lieaving; boundless, endless, and sublime— 

The image of Eternity—the throne 
Of the Invisible: even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers—they to me 
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror—’twas a pleasing fear; 

For I was as it were a child of thee, 

And trusted to thy billows far and near, 

And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do here. 

st. peter’s churcii at rome. 

But lo? the dome!—the vast and wondrous dome, 

To which Diana’s marvel was a cell— 

Christ’s mighty shrine, above his martyr’s tomb! 


298 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


I have Lelielcl the Ephesian miracle— 

Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell 
The hyena and the jackal in their shade; 

I have beheld Sophia’s bright roofs swell 
Their glittering mass i’ the sun, and have surveyed 
Its sanctuary, the while th’ usurping Moslem prayed. 

But thou of temples old, or altars new, 

Standest alone, with nothing like to thee: 

Worthiest of God, the holy and the true, 

Since Sion’s desolation, when that He 
Forsook his former city, what could be 
Of earthly structures, in his honor piled. 

Of a sublimer aspect ? Majesty, 

Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, are all aisled 
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 

Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 

And why ? it is not lessened: but thy mind, 

Expanded by the genius of the spot, 

Has grown colossal, and can only find 
A fit abode, wherein appear enshrined 
Thy hopes of immortality; and thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 

See thy God face to face, as thou dost now 
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. 

Thou movest, but increasing with the advance, 

Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, 
Deceived by its gigantic elegance: 

Yastness which grows—but grows to harmonize— 

All musical in its immensities; 

Rich marbles—richer painting—shrines where flame 
The lamps of gold—and haughty dome, which vies 
In air with earth’s chief structure, though their frame 
Sits on the firm-set ground, and this the clouds must claim. 

Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break, 

To separate contemplation, the great whole; 

And as the ocean many bays will make, 

That ask the eye—so here condense thy soul 
To more immediate objects, and control 
Thy thoughts, until thy mind hath got by heart 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


299 


Its eloquent proportions, and unroll 
In mighty graduations, part by part, 

The glory which at once upon thee did not dart. 

Not by his fault—but thine: our outward sense 
Is but of gradual grasp—and, as it is, 

That what we have of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression; even so this 
Outshining and o’erwhelming edifice 
Fools our fond gaze, and, greatest of the great, 

Defies, at first, our nature’s littleness; 

Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate 
Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. 

Then pause and be enlightened, there is more 
In such a survey than the sating gaze 
Of wonder pleased, or awe, which would adore 
The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
Of art, and its great masters, who could raise 
What former time, nor skill nor thought could plan; 

The fountain of sublimity displays 
Its depth, and thence may draw* the mind of man 
Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. 

Walter Scott, 1771-1832. 

Sir Walter Scott, born 'in Edinburgh in 1771, is 
universally considered as the greatest writer of imagin¬ 
ation of this century. Ilis poetry is characterized by 
F. Schlegel as the poetry of Reminiscence, as Byron's 
is styled the poetry of Despair. It is hard to say 
whether his. genius was most conspicuous in describing 
the varieties of nature, or delineating the passions of 
the heart : he was at once pictorial and dramatic. To 
this he owes his great success, his world-wide reputa¬ 
tion. At the High School of Edinburgh and in the 
University, he gained no great reputation for scholar¬ 
ship, being averse to Greek, addicted to athletic sports, 
and fond of miscellaneous reading. According to his 
own account, he had a distinguished character as a 


300 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


tale-teller. “The chief employment of my holidays/ 5 
he says in the general introduction to his novels, “ was 
to escape with a chosen friend who had the same taste 
with myself, and alternately to recite to each other 
such wild adveutures as we were able to devise. 55 At 
the age of fifteen, the breaking of a blood-vessel brought 
on an illness, which he beguiled by a constant reading 
of old romances, a circumstance which developed the 
chivalrous* tendency of his character, and awakened 
his sympathies for the Middle Ages. 

In 1802 appeared his first publication of any note. 
The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, which displayed 
much curious and abstruse learning, and gained the 
author no mean reputation as an historical and tradi¬ 
tionary poet. His first original work of considerable 
extent was The Lay of the Last Minstrel —a tale of 
sorcery and chivalric adventure, supposed to be related 
by a wandering minstrel, the last of a profession once 
so honored. It is the first of those works which were 
to exercise such influence on our later literature. In 
1808, appeared his Marmion, a poem somewhat similar 
in its scenery and treatment with the Lay, and conclud¬ 
ing with the fatal field of Flodden. The Lady of the 
Lake, 1810—the Vision of Don Roderic, 1811— Rokehy, 
1812, with some other works of less merit, ended his 
brilliant poetical career. The comparative merits of 
his three great poems, are now easily settled. The in¬ 
terest of the Lay depends chiefly upon the style ; that 
of Marmion, upon the descriptions ; that of the Lady 
of the Ijake, upon the incidents. “ The muse of Scott/ 5 
says F. Schlegel, “lives only in the reminiscences of 
the old songs of Scotland ; his verse is, as it were, a 
mosaic compound of detached fragments of Romantic 
legend and early chivalry, adapted to Scottish customs, 
and knit together with wondrous skill and care. 55 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


301 


Daring the period in which his principal poems ap¬ 
peared, Scott was also employed in editing The Works 
of Dnjden, to which he prefixed a Life of the author ; 
Lord Somers's Tracts; The Works of Jonathan Swift, 
and several other less voluminous writers. In 1814, he 
turned his thoughts more particularly to prose, and 
gave to the world, under the title of Waverley , the first 
of that wonderful series of novels, which created a new 
era in the history of prose fiction. The subsequent 
novels came out in the following order : in 1815, Guy 
Manner mg; in 181G, The Antiquary, and Tales of 
my Landlord, consisting of The Black Dwarf and Old 
Mortality ; in 1818, Rob Roy, and a second series of 
Tales of my Landlord, consisting of The Heart of Mid- 
Lothian ; in 1819, the third series of Tales of my Land¬ 
lord, consisting of The Bride of Lammermoor and 
The Legend of Montrose ; in 1820, Ivanhoe, The Mon¬ 
astery, and The Abbot; in 1821, Kenilworth ; in 1822, 
The Pirate, and The Fortunes of Nigel; in 1823, Quen¬ 
tin Durwanl, and Peveril of the Peak ; in 1824, St. 
Ronan’s Well, and Redgauntlet; in 1825 dales of the 
Crusaders ; in 1826, Woodstock; in 1827, Chronicles of 
the Canongate, First Series ; in 1828, Chronicles of the 
Canongate, Second Series ; in 1829, Anne of Geierstein ; 
and in 1831, a fourth series of Tales of my Landlord. 
These works, rapidly as they were produced, not only 
were the fruits of his unaided genius, but the original 
manuscripts were entirely written with his own hand, 
excepting those of 1818 and 1819, when illness obliged 
him to use an amanuensis. The characteristics which 
placed Scott in the front rank of writers of fiction, are 
beauty and richness of conception, vigor of execution, 
a nice discrimination of character, a bold coloring of 
historic scenes, and a boundless acquired knowledge. 
The immense variety of characters to be found in these 


302 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


novels, has caused them to be compared with the dramas 
of Shakespeare. 

“ We cannot say that Scott is licentious, but he is 
offensive and unjust to Catholics. He misrepresents 
their belief, perverts their intentions, and caricatures 
their practices. His saints are madmen, his monks 
half fool and half beast, his lay Catholics scoundrels 
or pretended heretics. . . . More than once he speaks 
of what he calls ‘a hunting Mass/ purposely abbrevi¬ 
ated for the convenience of hasty worshippers, being 
totally ignorant that no ecclesiastic has power to sup¬ 
press a single word of the Missal.”'* 

In 1820, George IV. conferred the title of baronet 
upon the gifted author. At the same time the fortune 
raised by his publications enabled Sir Walter to carry 
out the long-cherished object of his desires, to possess 
a baronial estate. The farm of Clarty-Hole on the 
Tweed became the famous Abbotsford, where Scott did 
the honors for all Scotland to numberless visitors of 
distinction. Everybody knows how all this sudden 
fortune crashed as suddenly, and how the indefatigable 
writer, unwilling to let his creditors lose anything, set 
about paying, by mere literary work, a sum of <£117,000. 
He succeeded, indeed, but at the expense of his life. 

In 1827, appeared his Life of Napoleon, a work of 
partial views, and executed with too little care and re¬ 
search to add to the brilliant reputation of the author. 
The first, second, and third series of Tales,of a Grand¬ 
father, illustrative of events in Scottish history, Letters 
on Demonology, and The History of Scotland, close the 
long list of the works of this prolific writer. 

In 1831, a second stroke of paralysis rendered it nec¬ 
essary for his family to divert him from the incessant 


T. W M. Marshall, in London Tablet. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


303 


literary labor which his mind, though shattered by 
disease, still continued to perform. After visiting 
Malta, Naples, and ultimately Rome, he returned home 
to die. Helpless, unconscious, and patient, he lingered 
on some little time, at Abbotsford; and, at length, 
breathed his last in the presence of all his children, 
in September, 1832. 

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. 

Ave Maria ! maiden mild! « 

Listen to a maiden’s prayer! 

Tliou canst hear though from the wild, 

Thou canst save amid despair. 

Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 

Though banished, outcast, and reviled— 

Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer! 

Mother, hear a suppliant child! 

Are Maria! 

Ave Maria ! undefiled! 

The flinty couch we now must share, 

Shall seem with down of eider piled, 

If thy protection hover there. 

The murky cavern’s heavy air 
Shall breathe of balm, if thou hast smiled; 

Then, Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer; 

Mother, list a suppliant child! 

Ave Maria I 

Ave Maria! Stainless styled! 

Foul demons of the earth and air, 

From this their wonted haunt exiled, 

Shall flee before thy presence fair. 

We bow us to our lot of care, 

Beneath thy guidance reconciled; 

Hear for a maid a maiden’s prayer, 

And for a father hear a child! 

Ave Maria ! 

KNIGHTHOOD IN THE LISTS. 

(From Ivanhoa.) 

At length, as the music of the challengers concluded one of 
those long and high flourishes with which they had broken 


304 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


tlic silence of the lists, it was answered by a solitary trumpet, 
which breathed a note of deliance from the northern extrem¬ 
ity. All eyes were turned to see the new champion which 
these sounds announced, and no sooner were the barriers 
opened than he paced into the lists. As far as could be judged 
of a man sheathed in armor, the new adventurer did not 
greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be rather slender 
than strongly made. His suit of armor was formed of steel, 
richly inlaid with gold; and the device on his shield was a 
young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the single word 
“ Disinherited.” He was mounted on a gallant black horse, 
afld, as he passed through the lists, he gracefully saluted the 
prince and the ladies, by lowering his lance. The dexterity 
with which he managed his steed, and something of youthful 
grace which he displayed in his maimer, won the favor of the 
multitude, which some of the lower classes expressed by call¬ 
ing out, “ Touch Ralph de Vipont’s shield, touch the Hospit¬ 
aller’s shield; he has the least sure seat; he is your cheapest 
bargain.” * 

The champion moving onward amid the well-meant hints, 
ascended the platform by the sloping alley which led to it 
from the lists, and, to the astonishment of all present, riding 
straight up to the central pavilion, struck with the sharp end 
of his spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, until it rang 
again. All stood astonished at his presumption, but none 
more so than the redoubted knight whom lie had thus defied 
to mortal combat, and who, little expecting so rude a challenge, 
was standing carelessly at the door of his pavilion. 

“Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the Templar, 
Guilbert, “ and have you heard mass this morning, that you 
peril your life so frankly ? ” “I am fitter to meet death than 
thou art,” answered the Disinherited Knight; for by this name 
the stranger had recorded himself in the book of the tourney. 
“ Then take your place in the lists,” said De Bois-Guilbert, 
“ and look your last ttpon the sun; for this night thou slialt 
sleep in Paradise.” “ Gramercy t for thy courtesy,” replied the 


* The challenge to combat was given by touching the shield of the knight 
whom the challenger wished to encounter. The challenge to a contest with 
headless or blunt lances was given by touching the shield gently with the 
reversed spear, while a blow with the point denoted a challenge to mortal 
combat, 
t Many thanks. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


305 


Disinherited Knight, “ and to requite it, I advise thee to take 
a fresh horse, and a new lance, for, by my honor, you will need 
both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his 
horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, and 
compelled him in the same manner to move backward through 
the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, where he re¬ 
mained stationary, in the expectation of his antagonist. This 
feat of horsemanship again attracted the applause of the mul¬ 
titude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precaution which 
he recommended, the Templar did not neglect his advice; for 
his honor was too nearly concerned to permit his neglecting 
any means which might insure victory over his presumptuous 
opponent. He changed his horse for a proved and fresh one 
of great strength and spirit. He ehose a new and tough spear, 
lest the wood of the former might have been strained in the 
previous encounters he had sustained. Lastly, he laid aside 
his shield, which had received some little damage, and re¬ 
ceived another from his squires. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the 
two extremities of the lists, the public expectation was strained 
to the highest pitch. Few augured the possibility that the en¬ 
counter could terminate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet 
his courage and gallantry secured the general good wishes of 
the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal than the cham¬ 
pions vanished from their posts with the speed of lightning, 
and closed in the centre of the lists with the shock ofr a thun¬ 
derbolt. The lances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, 
and it seemed at the moment, that both knights had fallen, for 
the shock had made each horse recoil backward upon its 
haunches. The address of the riders recovered their steeds by 
the use of the bridle and spur; and having glared on each 
other for an instant, with eyes that seemed*to flash fire through 
the bars of their visors, each retired to the extremity of the 
lists and received a fresh lance from the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and 
handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the inte¬ 
rest taken in the encounter. But no sooner had the knights re¬ 
sumed their station, than the clamor of applause was hushed 
20 


306 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


into a silence so deep and so dead, that it seemed the multi¬ 
tude were afraid to breathe. 

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the combat¬ 
ants and their horses might recover breath, the trumpets again 
sounded the onset. The champions a second time sprung from 
their stations, and met in the centre of the lists, with the same 
speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same 
equal fortune as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the centre 
of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fairly and forcibly, 
that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight 
reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, the champion had, 
in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance 
towards Bois-Guilbert’s shield; but changing his aim almost 
in the moment of encounter, he addressed to the helmet, a 
mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the 
shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Templar on 
the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the bars. Yet 
even at this disadvantage, Bois-Guilbev4 sustained his high 
reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst he 
might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, 
saddle, horse, and man, rolled on the ground under a cloud of 
dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was 
to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and stung with 
madness, both at his disgrace and the acclamations by which 
it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword, and waved 
it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited Knight 
sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed his sword. The 
marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses between 
them, and reminded them, that the laws of the tournament 
did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of en¬ 
counter, but that to the Disinherited Knight the meed of vic¬ 
tory was fairly and ^honorably awarded. 

OK KOVELS, AKD KOVEL-READIKG. 

The Novel is a fictitious history of surprising and 
entertaining events in common life. It differs from 
the romance, the interest of which turns upon marvel¬ 
lous and uncommon incidents. The chief merit of the 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


307 


novel consists in drawing characters at the same time 
distinct in themselves, and representative of whole 
classes of people, and narrating with interest well- 
'chosen incidents. In this new field of literature Defoe 
led the way. His Robinson Crusoe, his first prose 
fiction, met with extraordinary success. The excel¬ 
lence of Defoe's novels is a wonderful naturalness in 
the invention and relation of incidents. Richardson, 
the originator of the novel of high life, is noted for 
pathos and passion. Fielding is unrivalled for hu¬ 
mor, satire, freshness, and skill, in the exhibition of 
genuine human nature without romance. The charm 
of Smollett's writings consists in their broad humor 
and comic incidents. Sterne has shown incomparable 
humor in his Tristram Shandy and his Sentimental 
Journey, though he borrowed much from Rabelais. 
But the moral tendency of most of these novels is 
bad, and they contain passages without number of 
needless offensive coarseness. Johnson's Rasselas is a 
noble example of natural morality, and Goldsmith's 
Yicar of Wakefield one of the most charming narra¬ 
tives in the language. It was reserved to Walter Scott 
to give to the novel an unbounded popularity. Whilst 
but one new novel was published every fortnight in 
1825, one or more now appear every day. The novel, 
with Scott, was not intended to set forth the peculiar 
opinions of its author, as the case has since been 
with most of his followers. Besides, the false philos¬ 
ophy of the day, scouting the idea of a revelation, 
or exchanging religion for humanity, has gradually 
become the marked feature of some most successful 
novels. That Church alone which teaches the super¬ 
natural end of life and the means to attain it, can 
secure the novel-writer against the most fatal errors. 
The efforts made by Cardinals Wiseman, Newman, and 


308 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


others, to counteract bad novels, by religious tales is 
worthy of imitation. “It may be granted that wo 
have no clear right to any religious element in a novel; 
but we have a right to demand that life be not distorted,, 
morals left without explanation or incentive, and the 
great issues of our existence made dependent upon a 
blind fate.” * 

For the effect produced by novel-reading on the 
character, mental faculties, and literary taste, we quote 
the following sound appreciation of the American Cy¬ 
clopaedia. 

“From a view of some of the best authors in the 
highest class of novel writers, it will be abundantly 
evident that the perusal of these works, is more calcu¬ 
lated and apt to be prejudicial than advantageous, 
unless the mind is previously fortified with sound prin¬ 
ciples, and the passions and feelings are completely 
under the mastery of the judgment. Even then their 
claim must rest rather on the interest which they 
excite, than on the instruction which they afford. 
Whoever draws his opinions of the world, of the man¬ 
ners, characters, and pursuits of mankind from novels, 
will enter on real life to great disadvantage; the per¬ 
sonages of novels, especially of those which teem from 
the modern press, either bear no resemblance to 
mankind, or that resemblance consists in such a nar¬ 
row peculiarity of feature, as renders it rather an 
individual than a general picture. But the strong¬ 
est and most undoubted objection to novels, arises 
from the effects which the perusal of them pro¬ 
duces on the mental faculties and the literary taste: 
during it, the mind is nearly passive; a lounging, des¬ 
ultory habit of reading is acquired, so that when works 


* Cathol. World, March. 1879, p 847. 



TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


309 


are to be perused which require close and regular atten¬ 
tion, and a judgment constantly on the alert to follow 
and comprehend the author’s observations and argu¬ 
ments, the mind is unequal to the task. The literary 
taste will suffer equally if the reading is not confined to a 
very few select novels. Unless, therefore, the habits of 
close, active, and vigorous attention are of a very powerful 
and predominating nature, and the taste has been modelled 
to correctness and purity by long and regular discipline, 
novels ought to be avoided.”* 

To these remarks we may add the opinion of Mr. William 
D. Howells, himself a distinguished novelist: “ It may be 
safely assumed that most of the novel-reading, which people 
fancy is an intellectual pastime, is the emptiest dissipation, 
hardly more related to thought or the wholesome exercise 
of the mental faculties than opium-eating; in either case 
the brain is drugged, and left weaker and crazier by the 
debauch. If this may be called the negative result of the 
fiction-habit, the positive injury that most novels work is 
by no means so easily to be measured in the case of young 
men whose character they help so much to form or deform, 
and the women of all ages whom they keep so much in 
ignorance of the world they misrepresent.”f 


George Crabbe, 1754-1832. 

George Crabbe, whom Byron styles ‘ nature’s stern¬ 
est painter, yet the best/ was born in 1754, at Aid- 
borough, a coast town in Suffolk, and * cradled among 
the sons of the ocean/ a daily witness of the rude 
manners and unbridled passions of fishermen, poachers, 
and smugglers. After receiving an education superior 
to what could have been expected in his circumstances, 


* Rees's Cycl., Article, Novels. 


f Harper’s Monthly, 1887. 





310 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


he made an unsuccessful attempt to establish himself 
as a country apothecary; and, finding himself on the 
brink of ruin, he resolved to abandon his profession, 
and seek his fortune as a literary adventurer. He 
arrived in London in 1780, ‘with a box of clothes, a 
case of surgical instruments, and three pounds in his 
pocket/ His little stock of money being soon spent, 
he was driven to the necessity of soliciting temporary 
assistance, and was fortunate enough to attract the 
notice of the celebrated Edmund Burke. With the 
sympathy and encouragement of this great man, he 
brought out his first successful poem, The Library , 
and, three years later, The Village, a work revised and 
praised by both Burke and Johnson, and which at once 
stamped him as one of the most energetic and invent¬ 
ive poets of his age. If in his poems he has been 
accused, not without a show of justice, of dwelling too 
exclusively on what is odious and repulsive, and giving 
too gloomy and discouraging a view of human society, 
this fault is more than redeemed by the admirable 
instinct with which he has penetrated into the heart of 
man, and shown that its strength and weakness, its 
wisdom and folly, its majesty and degradation, are alike 
in all ranks and classes. Orabbe’s powers of minute 
descriptive painting, and skill in setting vividly before 
us a scene or a character which, at first sight, we would 
consider hopelessly unattractive, were never equalled 
in literature. In the depicting of the fen, the marsh, 
the workhouse, and the jail, as well as in his descrip¬ 
tion of moral sufferings, he is no less striking than 
peculiar. We have there not only poetry, but the real¬ 
ity of history. We would like more ideality, more hu¬ 
mor, and deeper sympathy. “Crabbe, as is well known, 
was one of Newman’s favourite authors, and nowhere can be 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


311 


found such generous and discriminating appreciations of 
human character as in Crabbe’s poems.”* 

The following is a list of his works not already men¬ 
tioned: The Parish Register, said to be the most suc¬ 
cessful of his productions; The Borough; Tales in 
Verse; lastly. The Tales of the Hall. All these poems 
are written in the rhymed couplet of Pope. 

Crabbe, at the suggestion of Burke, became an An¬ 
glican clergyman in his twenty-eighth year, and 
through the influence of his great friend obtained 
comfortable livings. Honored and loved, ho died in a 
good old age at Trowbridge, where he had spent the 
last eighteen years of his life. 

THE ENGLISH PARISH WORKHOUSE. 

There is yon house that holds the parish poor, 

Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door; 

There, where the putrid vapors flagging play^ 

And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day; 

There children dwell who know no parent’s care: 

Parents, who know no children’s love, dwell there: 
Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed, 

Forsaken wives and mothers never wed, 

Dejected widows with unheeded tears, 

And crippled age with more than cliildhood-fears; 

The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they! 

The moping idiot and the madman gay. 

Here too the sick their final doom receive, 

Here brought amid the scenes of grief to grieve, 

Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow, 
Mixed with the clamors of the crowd below; 

Here sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan, 

And the cold charities of man to man: 

Whose laws indeed for ruined age, provide, 

And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride; 

But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh, 

And pride embitters what it can’t deny. . . . 


* Rev. T. Mozley’s Reminiscences, vol. i., p. 211. 





312 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Such is that room which one rude beam divides, 
And naked rafters form the sloping sides; 

Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen, 
And lath and mud are all that lie between; 

Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patched, gives way 
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day: 

Here on a matted flock, with dust o’erspread. 

The drooping wretch reclines his languid head; 

For him no hand the cordial cup applies, 

Or wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes; 

No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile, 

Or promise hope till sickness wears a smile. 

HISTORY. 

Next History ranks; there full in front she lies, 

And every nation her dread tale supplies: 

Yet History has her doubts, and every age 
With sceptic queries marks the passing page; 

Records of old nor later date are clear, 

Too distant those, and these are placed too near; 
There, time conceals the objects from our view, 

Here, our own passions and a writer’s too: 

Yet, in these volumes, see how states arose, 

Guarded by virtue from surrounding foes! 

Their virtue lost, and of their triumph vain, 

Lo! how they sunk to slavery again! 

{Satiate with power, of fame and wealth possessed, 

A nation grows too glorious to be blest; 

Conspicuous made, she stands the mark of all, 

And foes join foes to triumph in her fall. 


S. Taylor Coleridge, 1772-1834. 

S. Taylor Coleridge, a profound thinker and a poet 
of rich imagination, was born in the South of England, 
and received the principal part of his education at 
Christ's Hospital, where he became head scholar. He 
describes himself as being, from eight to fourteen, ‘ a 
playless day-dreamer, a lielluo librorum ;' and in this 
instance ‘the child was father of the man:' for such 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


313 


was Coleridge to the end of his life. He had no ambi¬ 
tion ; and, had not his master, Bowyer, interfered, he 
would have apprenticed himself to a shoemaker who 
lived near the school. He wanted concentration and 
steadiness of purpose to avail himself sufficiently of his 
intellectual riches. In magnificent alternations of hope 
and despair, and in discoursing on poetry and philos¬ 
ophy, sometimes committing a golden thought to the 
blank leaf of a book, or to a private letter, but gener¬ 
ally content with oral communication, the poet’s time 
glided past. He began life as a Unitarian and Rcpub- 
lican; but, ultimately, became an adherent to the doc¬ 
trines of the Anglican Church, and an enthusiastic 
defender of monarchical institutions. Of the poems by 
which Coleridge is best known, the most generally 
read is The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, a wild, mys¬ 
tical narrative, possessing a melody strange and un¬ 
earthly, and an air of antiquity in admirable harmony 
with the spectral character of the events. He trans¬ 
lated the second and third parts of Schiller’s Wallen¬ 
stein with the exactness of a scholar, and the kindred 
inspiration of a poet. His Ode to Mont Blanc is one 
of the sublimest productions of the kind in the Eng¬ 
lish language. The poem Ghristabel is a wild mysteri¬ 
ous story which he published, in 181G, in its unfin¬ 
ished condition. Like his odes, like everything that 
Coleridge ever wrote, it is exquisitely versified. In 
his Lectures on Shakespeare, he did more to give an 
idea of the breadth and grasp of the genius of that poet 
than any other Englishman of his time. His other 
prose writings are large contributions to the Morning 
Post; The Friend, a literary periodical, which extended 
only to twenty-seven numbers ; the Biographia Litera- 
ria; and Aids to Refection. He planned several great 
works which were never committed to paper. Indeed 


314 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


an excessive use of opium, added to a native want of 
energy, produced an indolent habit and lack of appli¬ 
cation, which were fatal to the prosecution of any ex¬ 
tensive project. He lived for some time at Keswick, in 
Cumberland, near the Lakes, in which region Words¬ 
worth and Southey resided, and hence the appellation 
of Lake poets given to the three distinguished friends. 
As a conversationist, Coleridge enjoyed a remarkable 
reputation. He loved to keep the field entirely to him¬ 
self; and, hour after hour, if the auditors could spare 
time, would he pour forth ‘things new and old/ illus¬ 
trated by a boundless range of scientific knowledge, 
brilliancy, and exquisite nicety of illustration, deep and 
ready reasoning, immensity of bookish lore, dramatic 
story, joke and pun. 

Of Coleridge's poetry in its most matured form and in 
its best specimens, the most distinguishing character¬ 
istics are vividness of imagination and subtlety of 
thought, combined with beauty and expressiveness of 
diction, and exquisite melody of verse. Some of his 
minor poems, for the richness of their coloring 
combined with the most perfect finish, can be com¬ 
pared only to the flowers which spring up into loveli¬ 
ness at the touch of nature. The words, the rhyme, 
the whole flow of the music, seem to be not so much 
the mere expression or sign of the thought as its blos¬ 
soming or irradiation. 

After a wandering life, residing in the house of 
friends, alternately lecturing and contributing to peri¬ 
odicals, Coleridge settled in 1816 with Mr. Gilman, a 
London surgeon, with whom he resided until his death. 

EPITAPIT OF COLERIDGE, COMPOSED BY HIMSELF. 

Stop, Christian passer-by! Stop, child of God! 

And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


315 


A poet lies, or that which once seemed he; 

O lift a thought in prayer for S. T. C. ! 

That he who many a year with toil of breath 
Found death in life; may here find life in death! 

Mercy, for praise—to be forgiven, for Fame— 

He asked, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same. 


A CALM. 

(From The Ancient Mariner.) 

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 
The furrow followed free; 

We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea. 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down 
’Twas sad as sad could be; 

And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea! 

All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody sun, at noon, 

Right up above the mast did stand, 

No bigger than the moon. 

Day after day, day after day, 

We stuck, nor breath nor motion; 

As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

Water, water everywhere, 

And all the boards did shrink; 

Water, water everywhere, 

Nor any drop to drink. 

About, about, in reel and rout 
The death-fires danced at night: 

The water, like a witch’s oils, 

Burnt green, and blue, and white. 


316 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 

(From Christdbel.) 

Alas! they had been friends in youth; 

But whispering tongues can poison truth; 

And constancy lives in realms above; 

And life is thorny; and youth is vain; 

And to be wroth with one we love, 

Doth work like madness in the brain. 

And thus it chanced, as I divine, 

With Roland and Sir Leoline. 

Each spake words of high disdain - 
And insult to his heart’s best brother: 

They parted—ne’er to meet again! 

But never either found another 
To free the hollow heart from paining— 

They stood aloof, the scars remaining, 

Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; 

A dreary sea now flows between, 

But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, 

Shall wholly do away, I ween, 

The marks of that which once hath been. 

THE LADY-FIEND BEWITCHING CHRIST ABEL. 

A snake’s small eye blinks dull and shy, 

And the lady’s eyes they shrunk in her head, 

Each shrunk up to a serpent’s eye, 

And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, 
At Christabel she looked askance!— 

One moment—and the sight was fled! 

But Christabel in dizzy trance, 

Stumbling on the unsteady ground— 

Shuddered aloud with a hissing soui^; 

* » * # # # * * 

The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, 

She nothing sees—no sight but one! 

The maid, devoid of guile and sin, 

I know not now, in fearful wise 

So deeply had she drunken in 

That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, 

That all her features were resigned 
To this sole image in her mind: 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


317 


And passively did imitate 
That look of dull and treacherous hate, 
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, 
Still picturing that look, askance, 

With forced unconscious sympathy 
Full before her father’s view— 

As far as such a look could he 
In eyes so innocent and blue ! 

And when the trance was o’er, the maid 
Paused awhile and inly prayed, 

Then falling at her father’s feet, 

‘ By my mother’s soul do I entreat 
That thou this woman send away!’ 

She said; and more she could not say, 
For what she knew she could not tell, 
O'er-mastered by the mighty spell. 


Charles Lamb, 1775-1834. 

Charles Lamb, the author of Elia, was a native of Lon¬ 
don. He was educated at’Christ’s Hospital, where he was 
the companion of Coleridge. Leaving school, he was en¬ 
gaged for a short time in the South Sea House, then 
obtained a permanent situation in the accountant’s office 
of the East India Company. After thirty-three years’ 
service he was allowed to retire in 1825 on a yearly pen¬ 
sion of £450. In 1796 occurred that domestic misfortune 
which served to reveal the deep generosity of his soul and 
affected all his w T ritings with a tinge of sadness. His sister 
Mary, in a fit of insanity, stabbed her mother to the heart. 
By a judicial verdict she was entrusted for safe-keeping to 
the care of her brother, who, indeed, broke his own future 
prospects in order to devote himself to his charge. “ I am 
wedded,” he wrote to Coleridge, “ to the fortunes of my 
sister and my poor old father.” His sister survived him 
thirteen years, and was allowed during all that time to 
enjoy the pension of her brother. 

Lamb published some poems which never achieved much 


318 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


success. He wrote some dramatic pieces (John Woodvil; 

The Witch; Mr. IT -, a Farce; and The Pawnbroker's 

Daughter ), but they were partial failures. He composed 
Rosamund Gray and Old Blind Margaret, a pathetic story, 
and a few shorter narratives. In connection with his sister, 
y. lie was the author of Tales Founded on the Plays of Shake¬ 
speare. But it is to his essays that he owes his fame. These 
appeared under the title of Fssays of Elia, followed up by 
the Last Essays of Elia and other Essays and Sketches. They 
have placed their author in the first rank of humorists, by 
the side of Steele and Addison. He is too fond of subtle 
hints and obscure allusions ever to be a very popular writer, 
but he will remain a favorite with high-cultured readers. 
His Letters, published in 1837 by his friend and executor 
Sir Thomas N. Talfourd, are models of courtesy, kindness, 
and good English. 

POOR RELATIONS. 

(From Last Essays of Elia.) 

A poor relation is the most irrelevant thing in nature,—a piece 
of impertinent correspondency,—an odious approximation,—a haunt¬ 
ing conscience,—a preposterous shadow, lengthening in the noontide 
of your prosperity,—an unwelcome remembrancer,—a perpetually 
recurring mortification,—a drain on your purse,— a more intolera¬ 
ble dun upon your pride,—a drawback upon success,—a rebuke to 
your rising,—a stain in your blood,—a blot on your scutcheon,—a 
rent in your garment,—a death’s-head at your banquet,—Agathocles’ 
pot,—a Mordecai in your gate,—a Lazarus at your door,—a lion in 
your path,—a frog in your chamber,—a fly in your ointment,—a 
mote in your eye,—a triumph to your enemy,—an apology to your 
friends,—the one thing not needful,—the hail in harvest,—the ounce 
of sour in a pound of sweet. He is known by his knock. Your 

heart telleth you, “ That is Mr.-.” A rap between familiarity 

and respect ; that demands, and, at the same time, seems to despair 
of entertainment. lie entereth smiling, and—embarrassed. He 
holdeth out his hand to you to shake, and—draweth it back again. 
He casually looketh in about dinner-time—when the table is full. 
He offereth to go away, seeing you have company—but is induced 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


319 


to stay. He filleth a chair, and your visitor’s two children are ac¬ 
commodated at a side table. He never cometh upon open days, 
when your wife says with some complacency, “My dear, perhaps 

Mr. - will drop in to-day.” He rememberetli birthdays—and 

professeth he is fortunate to have stumbled upon one. He de- 
clareth against fish, the turbot being small—yet suflereth himself to 
be importuned into a slice against his first resolution. He sticketh 
by the port—yet will be prevailed upon to empty the remainder 
glass of claret, if a stranger press it upon him. He is a puzzle to 
the servants, who are fearful of being too obsequious, or not civil 
enough, to him. The guests think “they have seen him before.” 
Everyone speculateth upon his condition ; and the most part take 
him to be —a tide-waiter. He calleth you by your Christian name, 
to imply that his other is the same with your own. He is too famil¬ 
iar by half, yet you wish he had less diffidence. With half the 
familiarity, he might pass for a casual dependent; with more bold¬ 
ness, he would be in no danger of being taken for what he is. He 
is too humble for a friend, yet taketh on him more state than befits 
a client. He is asked to make one at the whist-table, refuseth on 
the score of poverty, and—resents being left out. When the com¬ 
pany break up, he proflereth to go for a coach—and lets the servants 
go. He recollects your grandfather, and will thrust in some mean 
and quite unimportant anecdote of—the family. He knew it when 
it was not quite so flourishing as “he is blest in seeing it now.” He 
reviveth past situations, to institute what he calleth—favorable com¬ 
parisons. With a reflecting sort of congratulation, he will inquire 
the price of your furniture; and insults you with a special com¬ 
mendation of your window-curtains. . . . His memory is unseason¬ 
able; his complements perverse ; his talk a trouble ; his stay perti¬ 
nacious; and when he goeth away, you dismiss his chair into a cor- ' 
ner as precipitately as possible, and feel fairly rid of two nuisances. 

Robert Southey, 1774-1843. 

Robert Southey, one of the most voluminous and 
learned authors of this period—a poet, scholar, anti¬ 
quary, critic, and historian—was born at Bristol in 1774. 
He wrote even more than Scott, and yet he is said to 
have burned more verses between his twentieth and 
thirtieth year than he published during his whole life. 
His time was entirely devoted to literature. Every day 


320 


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and hour had its appropriate and select task ; his library 
was his world, within which he was content to range ; 
and his books were his most cherished and constant 
companions: 

The mighty minds of old: 

My never-failing friends are they, 

With whom I converse night and day. 

Southey began life as a violent partisan of the prin¬ 
ciples of the French Revolution; and in the ridiculous 
drama of Wat Tyler and the extravagant epic of Joan of 
Arc, he devoted all his powers to the support of extreme 
liberal opinions. He and his friends, Lovell and Cole¬ 
ridge, had even formed a plan of settling on the Sus¬ 
quehanna River, and establishing a community (Pan- 
tisocracy) in which all things should be common; but 
they lacked money to carry out the scheme. Southey 
soon, however, abandoned his early principles, and be¬ 
came one of the most thorough-going supporters of 
monarchical and conservative doctrines. In 1801, was 
published his second epic, Thalaba , the Destroyer, a tale 
of Arabian enchantment, wild, extravagant, unearthly 
in its subject, and full of supernatural machinery. The 
hero tights with demons and enchanters; but at last 
overthrows the dominion of powers of evil in the Dom- 
daniel Cavern, f under the roots of the ocean/ The 
poem is in blank verse of very irregular length, but of 
great music. In 1805, was published Madoc, an epic 
poem inferior to its predecessors. Madoc is a Welsh 
prince of the twelfth century, who is represented as 
making a discovery of the Western World. His con¬ 
tests with the Mexicans, and his conversion of the peo¬ 
ple from their idolatry, form the chief theme. As a 
whole, the poem is languid and unimpressive. 

The Curse of Kehama , his greatest poetical work, ap- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


321 


peared in 1810. It is a poem of the same class and 
structure as Thalaba, but written in rhyme. The story 
is founded on Hindoo mythology, and the scene is laid 
successively in the terrestrial paradise, under the sea, in 
the heaven of heavens, and in hell. “Scenery and 
costume, situations and sentiments, are alike in keeping 
with the Oriental nature of the work. But, for all its 
splendor and all its correctness as a work of art, it is so 
far removed from the world in which our sympathies 
lie, that few can fully appreciate this noble poem, and 
perhaps none can return to it with never-wearied love as 
to a play of Shakespeare.” Keliama was followed at an 
interval of four years by lloderic , Last of the Goths , a 
poem in blank verse, founded on the punishment and 
repentance of the last Gothic king of Spain, Here 
also there are some splendid descriptive passages and 
several scenes of tenderness and pathos ; but, in general, 
the poem wants reality and human interest, and the 
tone of it is too uniformly ecstatic and agonizing, 
Southey's Ballads and other short poems are deservedly 
the most popular of his writings. 

The poems of Southey are but a small portion of his 
literary work. He wrote innumerable articles in Re¬ 
views, and filled volumes with the result of his reading 
and thoughts on moral philosophy, politics, and litera¬ 
ture. The most considerable of his historical composi¬ 
tions are the History of Brazil, and the History of the 
Peninsular War. “Though they both,” says Alison, 
“possess merits of a very high order, and abound in 
passages of great descriptive beauty, they have never 
obtained any high reputation, and are now well-nigh 
forgotten. He had not the patience of research and 
calmness of judgment, indispensable for a trustworthy 
historian.” 

In some of his productions, as The Doctor , there is $ 
21 


322 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


humor that reminds the reader of Swift; and all are 
remarkable for the purity and vigor of their English. 
His Life of Nelson , which Macaulay declares ‘ the most 
perfect and the most delightful of his works/ is per¬ 
haps the most likely to retain its place as an English 
classic. The Booh of the Church , according to the same 
authority, f contains some stories very prettily told. 
The rest is mere rubbish/ In his Lives of the British 
Admirals , Life of Wesley, of Bunyan, and of Cowper, we 
find the same admirable art of clear, vigorous English. 
But in several of these, as well as in his innumerable 
critical and historical essays, he displays a measure of 
prejudice and of temper not creditable to his judicial 
character as a critic, or to his many excellent qualities 
as a writer and as a man. “ In all these works, '* says 
Macaulay, “in which Mr. Southey has completely 
abandoned narrative, and undertaken to argue moral 
and political questions, his failure has been complete 
and ignominious. On such occasions, his writings are 
rescued from utter contempt and derision solely by the 
beauty and the purity of the English.” 

At length, the strong spirit of Southey was bowed by 
the exces-s of mental labor. For three years before his 
death, his mind was so far gone that he was not able to 
recognize those who had been his companions from his 
youth. He died in 1843, at his residence in the Lake 
country. 


PADALON, OR, THE INDIAN HADES. 

Far other light than that of day there shone 
Upon the travellers, entering Padalon. 

They, too, in darkness entering on their way, 
But far before the car, 

A glow, as of a fiery furnace light, 

Filled all before them. ’Twas a light that made 
Darkness itself appear 
21 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


323 


A thing of comfort; and the sight, dismayed, 
Shrank inward from the molten atmosphere. 

Their way was through the adamantine rock 
Which girt the world of woe; on either side 
Its massive walls arose, and overhead 
Arched the long passage; onward as they ride, 
With stronger glare the light around them spread— 
And, lo! the regions dread— 

The world of woe before them opening wide, 

There rolls the fiery Hood, 

Girding the realms of Padalon around. 

A sea of flame it seemed to be, 

Sea without bound: 

For neither mortal nor immortal sight 
Could pierce across through that intensest light. 

THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, 

The ship was still as she could be; 

Her sails from heaven received no motion; 

Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without either sign or sound of their shock. 

The waves flowed over the Inclicape Rock; 

So little they rose, so little they fell, 

They did not move the Inclicape Bell. 

The Abbot of Aberbrotliok 

Had placed that Bell on the Inclicape Rock; 

On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, 

And over the waves its warning rung. 

When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell, 

The mariners heard the warning Bell; 

And then they knew the perilous Rock, 

And blest the Abbot of Aberbrotliok. 

The sun in heaven was shining gay; 

All things were joyful on that day; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, 

And there was joyance in their sound. 

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen— 

A darker speck on the ocean green; 


324 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 

And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of Spring; 

It made him whistle, it made him sing; 

His heart was mirthful to excess, 

But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the Inclicape float; 

Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat, 

And row me to the Inclicape Rock, 

And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.” 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 

And to the Inclicape Rock they go; 

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 

And he cut the Bell from the Inclicape float. 

Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound; 

The bubbles rose and burst around; 

Quoth Sir Ralph, “ The next who comes to the Rock 
Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.” 

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; 

He scoured the seas for many a day; 

And now, grown rich with plundered store, 

He steers his course for Scotland’s shore. 

So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky, 

They cannot see the sun on high; 

The wind hath blown a gale all day; 

At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the Rover takes his stand: 

So dark ft is they see no land. 

Quoth Sir Ralph, “ It will be lighter soon, 

For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.” 

“ Canst hear,” said one, “ the breakers roar? 

For metliinks we should be near the shore.” 

“Now where we are I cannot tell, 

But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.” 

They hear no sound; the swell is strong; 

Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


325 


Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,— 

“ Oh Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!” 

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; 

He cursed himself in his despair; 

The waves rushed in on every side; 

The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 

Rut, even in his dying fear, 

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear— 

A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, 

The devil below was ringing his knell. 

Thomas Campbell, 1777-1844. 

Thomas Campbell, the hard of Hope and eminent 
lyric poet, was born in the city of Glasgow, in 1777. 
Educated at the University of that city, he distinguished 
himself for his proficiency in classical studies. In 1799 
he published the Pleasures of Hope, of which four edi¬ 
tions were called for within a year. In this production 
of his youth, harmony of versification, a polished and 
graceful diction, and an accurate finish, are united with 
an ardent poetical sensibility. The passage concerning 
the partition of Poland is full of the lyric power which 
afterwards shone forth so brilliantly in Ye Mariners 
of England, Hohenlinden, the Battle of the Baltic, and 
the Exile of Erin. The last of these, so well known 
and appreciated in this country, was composed at Ham¬ 
burg, and owes its origin to the poet’s meeting with 
some political exiles, who had been concerned in what 
is called the Irish Rebellion. 

From the Monastery of St. Jacob, Campbell witnessed 
the bloody battle of Hohenlinden, December 3d, 1800. 
This dreadful spectacle he has commemorated in one of 
the grandest pen-pictures that were ever drawn. In a 
few verses, flowing like a choral melody, he brings be¬ 
fore us the silent midnight scene of engagement wrapt 


326 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


in the snows of winter, the sudden arming for battle, 
the press and shout of charging squadrons, the flashing 
of artillery, and the final scene of death: 

Few, few shall part, where many meet! 

The snow shall be their winding sheet; 

And every turf beneath their feet 

Shall be a soldier’s sepulchre! 

Returning home, he resided for upwards of a year at 
Edinburgh, where' he wrote Lochiel’s Warning , which, 
it is said, Sir Walter Scott heard once, read once him¬ 
self, and then recited from memory. In 1809, appeared 
Gertrude of Wyoming , a Pennsylvania tale, and other 
poems, which confirmed his poetical reputation. 

His lyrics are his finest pieces. There are found in 
them an ideal loveliness, a refinement of imagery, a con¬ 
centrated power of expression, a depth of feeling, and 
sensitiveness of nature, always charming. 

From 1810 to 1820, he edited The Neiv Monthly Mag¬ 
azine , to which he contributed many beautiful poems. 
Of these, perhaps, The Last Man has been the most 
admired. 

Among his prose writings may be mentioned: Letters 
from the South, or a Poet’s Residence in Algiers , con¬ 
taining interesting and picturesque sketches of Algiers 
and the adjacent districts; The Life and Times of 
Petrarch; The Life of Mrs. Siddons; Frederick the 
Great, his Court and Times; Specimens of the British 
Poets, with biographical and critical notes ; and an 
Essay on English Poetry. The Lives are wanting in 
accuracy and good taste. The criticisms on the poets, 
and the Essay, are delightful reading. But the selec¬ 
tions are poor specimens of the authors. 

In 1843 Campbell visited Boulogne, for the benefit 
of his health, and resided there until his death, which 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


327 


occurred in June, 1844. He was interred in Westmin¬ 
ster Abbey. 


Beginning of Hope. 

At summer eve, when heaven’s ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, 

Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 

Whose sunbriglit summit mingles with the sky ? 

Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ? 

’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 

And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 

Thus with delight we linger to survey 
The promised joys of life’s unmeasured way; 

Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been, 

And every form, that Fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 

FALL OF POLAND. 

(From Hope.) 

He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors few, but undismayed; 

Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 

Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; 

Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly. 
Revenge, or death, the watchword and reply: 

Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 

And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm. 

In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! 

From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew; 

Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of time, 

Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; 

Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe. 

Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! 

Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 

And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell! 


328 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Conclusion of Hope. 

Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time 
Thy joyous youth began—but not to fade.— 

When all the sister planets have decayed; 

When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 

And Heaven’s last thunder shakes the world below 
Thou, undismayed, slialt o’er the ruins smile, 

And light thy torch at Nature’s funeral pile. 

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.* A NAVAL ODE. 

Ye Mariners of England! 

That guard our native seas; 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 

The battle and the breeze! 

Your glorious standard launch again 
To match another foe! 

And sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy tempests blow; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 
Shall start from every wave!— 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And Ocean was their grave: 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 

As ye sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy tempests blow; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

Britannia needs no bulwark, 

No towers along the steep; 

Her march is o’er the mountain waves, 

Her home is on the deep. 

With thunders from her native oak, 

She quells the floods below,— 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy tempests blow: 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


329 


When the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

The meteor flag of England 
Shall yet terrific burn; 

Till danger’s troubled night depart, 

And the star of peace return. 

Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! 

Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name, 

When the storm has ceased to blow; 

When the fiery fight is heard no more, 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 

EXILE OF ERIN. 

There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, 

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; 

For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing 
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 

But the daystar attracted his eye’s sad devotion; 

For it rose o’er his own native isle of the ocean, 

Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion, 

He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragli. 

Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger, 

The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; 

But I have no refuge from famine and danger, 

A home and a country remain not to me. 

Never again in the green sunny bowers, 

Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours, 
Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers, 

And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragli! • 

Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken, 

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; 

But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken, 

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! 

O cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me 

In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me? 

Never again shall my brothers embrace me? 

They died to defend me, or live to deplore! 

Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild wood? 

Sisters and sire! did ye weep for itc fall? 


330 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Where is the mother that looked on my childhood? 

And where is the bosom friend, dearer than all? 

Oh! my sad heart! long abandoned by pleasure, 

Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure! 

Tears like the rain-drops may fall without measure; 

But rapture and beauty they cannot recall. 

Yet all its sad recollections suppressing, 

One dying wish my lone bosom can draw, 

Erin! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing! 

Land of my .>refathers! Erin go bragli! 

Buried and c 3ld, when my heart stills her motion, 

Green be tlij fields—sweetest isle of the ocean! 

And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,—• 
Erin mavournin! Erin go bragli! * 


Sydney Smith, 1771-1845. 

Sydney Smith, well known as one of the most popu¬ 
lar essayists of the celebrated Edinburgh Review, was 
born at Woodford, near London, in 1771. He was the 
originator of the Review, and its first editor. Many of 
his contributions were replete with a humor and satire 
so pungent as to excite public attention to an extraor¬ 
dinary degree. When the ‘No Popery" cry drove the 
government of that day from the councils of the king, 
it was then that the most popular of Smith/s essays 
made its appearance, under the guise of Letters of 
Peter Plymley , by means of which it has been asserted, 
though probably with some exaggeration, that he did 
more than any other individual for the relief of the 
Roman Catholics. These letters abound in humor and 
the happiest illustrations; and, though light, lively, 
and sparkling, they are models of logical force and 
common-sense. But if Peter Plymley justly vindi¬ 
cates the political and social rights of his Catholic fel¬ 
low-citizens, he unfairly assails their religious doc- 


* Ireland mj darling—Ireland forever. 



TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


331 


trines with an abuse and vulgarity of tone unworthy 
of the reverend author. 

The popularity of Sydney Smith as a preacher, led 
to his appointment as lecturer on Belles-Lettres and 
Moral Philosophy at the Royal Institution, London. 
His discourses, which were attended by ‘ overflowing and 
fashionable audiences/ were published after his death, 
and increased his reputation for wisdom. In wit and 
humor, he was the most celebrated man \if his time. 
He had little poetic fancy, but ‘ a prodigibus fund of 
innate sagacity, a vast power of humorous Illustration, 
and a clear perception of the practical bearing of every 
question/ No other public writer was more successful 
than he in. denouncing a political humbug, or demolish¬ 
ing a literary pretender. He was, on the whole, an up. 
right and benevolent man, and, as the world goes, a 
disinterested politician. His fortune improved slowly. 
Successive livings, however, had already secured him a 
competency when, in 1831, his patrons of the Whig 
party procured for him a prebend at St. PauPs, London. 
Finally, in 1839, the death in India of his youngest 
brother brought him considerable wealth. “In my 
grand climacteric,” he said, “I became unexpectedly a 
rich man.” Of the too worldly estimate which he 
made of his fortune we have his own testimony: “I 
can safely say that I have been happier every guinea I 
have gained.” Not long before his death, he gave the 
following account of himself, in a letter to a corre¬ 
spondent of the New York American: “I am 74 years 
old; and, being a canon of St. PauPs in London, and 
rector of a parish in the country, my time is equally 
divided between town and country. I am living amid 
the best society in the metropolis; am at ease in my 
circumstances, in tolerable health, a mild Whig, a tol¬ 
erating churchman, and much given to talking, laugh- 


332 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ing, and noise. I dine with the rich in London, and 
physic the poor in the country; passing from the 
sauces of Dives to the sores of Lazarus. I am, upon 
the whole, a happy man, have found the world an en¬ 
tertaining world, and am heartily thankful to Provi¬ 
dence for the part allotted to me in it.” 

Smith died at his residence in London on the 21st of 
February, 1845. 


WIT AND HUMOR. 

I wish, after all I have said about wit and humor, I could 
satisfy myself of their good effects upon the character and dis¬ 
position ; but I am convinced the probable tendency of both is, 
to corrupt the understanding and the heart. I am not speak¬ 
ing of wit where it is kept down by more serious qualities of 
mind, and thrown into the background of the picture; but 
where it stands out boldly and emphatically, and is evidently 
the master quality in any particular mind. Professed wits, 
though they are generally courted for the amusement they 
afford, are seldom respected for the qualities they possess. 
The habit of seeing things in a witty point of view, increases, 
and makes incursions from its own proper regions, upon prin¬ 
ciples and opinions which are ever held sacred by the wise 
and good. A witty man is a dramatic performer; and in proc¬ 
ess of time, he can no more exist without applause than he can 
exist without air; if his audience be small, or if they are inat¬ 
tentive, or if a new wit defrauds him of any portion of his ad¬ 
miration, it is all over with him—he sickens, and is extin¬ 
guished. The applauses of the theatre on which he performs 
are so essential to him, that he must obtain them at the 
expense of decency, friendship, and good feeling. It must 
always be probable, too, that a mere wit is a person of light 
and frivolous understanding. His business is not to discover 
relations of ideas that are useful, and have a real influence 
upon life, but to discover the more trifling relations which are 
only amusing; he never looks at things with the naked eye of 
common-sense, but is always gazing at the world through a 
Claude Lorraine glass,—discovering a thousand appearances 
which are created only by the instrument of inspection, and 
covering every object with factitious and unnatural colors. 


TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


333 


In short, the character of a mere wit is impossible to consider 
as very amiable, very respectable, or very safe. So far the 
world, in judging of wit where it has swallowed up all other 
qualities, judge aright; but I doubt if they are sufficiently 
indulgent to this faculty where it exists in a lesser degree, 
and as one out of many other ingredients of the understand¬ 
ing. There is an association in men’s minds between dulness 
and wisdom, amusement and folly, which has a powerful 
influence in decision upon character, and is not overcome 
without considerable difficulty. The reason is, that the out¬ 
ward signs of a dull man and a wise man are the same, and so 
are the outward signs of a frivolous man and a witty man; and 
we are not to expect that the majority will be disposed to look 
to much more than the outward sign. I believe the fact to be 
that wit is very seldom the only eminent quality which resides 
in the mind of any man; it is commonly accompanied by many 
other talents of every description, and ought to be considered 
as a strong evidence of a fertile and superior understanding. 
Almost all the great poets, orators, and statesmen, of all 
times, have been witty. Caesar, Alexander, Aristotle, Des¬ 
cartes, and Lord Bacon, were witty men; so were. Cicero, 
Shakespeare, Demosthenes, Boileau, Pope, Dryden, Fonte- 
nelle, Jonson, Waller, Cowley, Solon, Socrates, Dr. Johnson, 
and almost every man who has jnade a distinguished figure in 
the House of Commons. I have talked of the danger of wit; I 
do not mean by that to enter into commonplace declamation 
against faculties because they are dangerous;—wit is danger¬ 
ous, eloquence is dangerous, a talent for observation is danger¬ 
ous, everything is dangerous that has efficacy and vigor for its 
characteristics; nothing is safe but mediocrity. The business 
is, in conducting the understanding well, to risk something; 
to aim at uniting things that are commonly incompatible. 
The meaning of an extraordinary man is, that he is eight men, 
not one man; that he has as much wit as if he had no sense, 
and as much sense as if he had no wit; that his conduct is as 
judicious as if he were the dullest of human beings, and hig 
imagination as brilliant as if he were irretrievably ruined. 
But when wit is combined with sense and information; when 
it is softened by benevolence, and restrained by strong prin¬ 
ciple; when it is in the hands of a man who can use it and 
despise it, who can be witty and something much better than 
witty, who loves honor, justice, decency, good-nature, moral- 


334 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ity, and religion, ten thousand times better than wit;—wit is 
then a beautiful and delightful part of our nature. There is 
no more interesting spectacle than to see the effects of wit 
upon the different characters of men; than to observe it ex¬ 
panding caution, relaxing dignity, unfreezing coldness,—teach¬ 
ing age, and care,-and pain to smile,—extorting reluctant 
gleams of pleasure from melancholy, and charming even the 
pangs of grief. It is pleasant to observe how it penetrates 
through the coldness and awkwardness of society, gradually 
bringing men nearer together, and, like the combined force of 
wine and oil, giving every man a glad heart and shining coun¬ 
tenance. Genuine and innocent wit, like this, is surely the 
flavor of the mind! Man could direct his ways by plain 
reason, and support his life by tasteless food; but God has 
given us wit, and llavor, and brightness, and laughter, and 
perfumes to enliven the days of man’s pilgrimage, and to 
i charm his pained steps over the burning marie.’ 

William Wordsworth, 1770-1850. 

William Wordsworth, a meditative and descriptive 
poet, the celebrated founder of what is called the Lake 
school of poetry, was horn in 1770 in the County of 
Cumberland. His first attempt in verse was made at 
the age of thirteen. In 1787, he was matriculated as a 
student of St. John’s College, Cambridge. In one of 
the long vacations, he undertook a pedestrian excur¬ 
sion on the Continent. The result of his observations 
he gave to the public, in 1793, with the title of De¬ 
scriptive Sketches in Verse. In the same year, he pub¬ 
lished an epistle in verse, entitled. An Evening Walk. 
Both of these poems contain many specimens of beau¬ 
tiful picturesque description. His Lyrical Ballads , 
intended as an experiment on a new system of poetry, 
were published in 1798. They were, through principle, 
written on the humblest subjects and in the language 
of the humblest life. But the attempt was not a suc¬ 
cess. Whilst striving to react against the conventional 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


335 


poetry then still in fashion, he ran to the other ex¬ 
treme. Byron has ridiculed this new system in the 
following caustic lines : 

“ Next comes the dull disciple of the school, 

The mild apostate from poetic rule/ 

The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay 
As soft as evening in his favorite May, 

Who warns his friend to shake off toil and trouble, 

And quit his books for fear of growing double ; 

Who, both of precept and example shows 
That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose ; 

Convincing all by demonstration plain, 

Poetic souls delight in prose insane, 

And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme 
Contain the essence of the true sublime.” 

Wordsworth was the author of many tales, odes, and 
sonnets, all of which have varied merits. The princi¬ 
pal, or, largest of his works is The Excursion , a philo¬ 
sophical poem in blank verse, printed in 1814. It is, 
however, but the second part of his epic The Recluse, 
of which The Prelude , or introduction, was finished in 
1805, but did not appear till 1850; the first part was 
completed, but never published ; the third part was 
planned, but never executed. This projected epic has 
no plot, and its characters have neither life nor proba¬ 
bility. “ The Excursion itself consists of nine books ; 
but, from the nature of the plan, there is no reason why 
it should not contain as many more." The themes dis¬ 
missed are among the noblest,—God, nature, life, man, 
our duties, our hopes; and there are found in it pass¬ 
ages of great beauty, whilst others are marred by a spirit 
of puritanical bigotry, which would have us admire 

The true descendants of those godly men 
Who swept from Scotland, in a flame of zeal, 

Shrine, altar, image, and the mossy piles 
That harbored them. . . . 


336 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


The finer productions of Wordsworth’s muse are char¬ 
acterized by the union of deep feeling with profound 
thought, a power of observation which makes him fa¬ 
miliar with all the loveliness and wonders of the world 
within and around -us, and an imagination capable of 
inspiring all objects with poetic life. His diction is 
lofty, sustained, and impassioned, wdien he is not led 
astray by his attempts to extend the language of ordi¬ 
nary life to the subjects of poetry. “ Wordsworth has 
rendered a service to English poetry by avoiding the 
turgid diction of the feeble imitators of Pope and Dry- 
den, and by recalling our poets to the naturalness and 
simplicity of expression which comport so well with 
the genius of our language ; but he has done our poe¬ 
try an equal disservice by rendering it tame and fee¬ 
ble. Like all English poets not of the first order, he 
was too fond of what is called descriptive poetry. Of 
course, we do not exclude description from poetry, 
and all great poets, from Homer downwards, abound 
in descriptions ; but their descriptive passages are not 
introduced for the sake of description. Wordsworth’s 
descriptions are long and wearisome, though no doubt 
exact; but they serve only a descriptive purpose. 
They heighten no effect, illustrate no truth, bring 
home no thought or sentiment.” * 

It is difficult, at first sight, to reconcile the high 
praise bestowed by some critics on Wordsworth’s poe¬ 
try with the low estimate formed by others of his 
power and genius. 

The fact is, that his poetry is of different kinds and 
in different styles. In his earliest pieces he imitates 
sometimes Pope, sometimes Spenser. Then comes the 
bold simplicity of many of his lyric ballads ; and, last 


* RroTvnson’s R^y., Oct., 1855. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


337 


of all, we have, in violation of what was supposed to bo 
his principle, lofty themes, appropriate imagery, in¬ 
tense feeling, noble, sometimes turgid utterance—qual¬ 
ities that often remind the reader of Milton. Of no 
writer, therefore, is it more important to ask, before 
we proceed to give judgment, what style of Words¬ 
worth it is we have to criticise—the earliest, the mid¬ 
dle, or the last. Some of his sonnets are among the 
finest in our tongue. 

In 1843, Wordsworth was appointed to the Laureate- 
ship left vacant by the death of Southey. After this 
appointment, he lived a quiet ^and dignified life at 
Rydal, evincing little apparent sympathy with the ar¬ 
duous duties and activities of every-day life. 

THE VIRGIN. 

Mother ! whose virgin bosom was uncrost 
With the least shade of thought to sin allied ; 

Woman ! above all women glorified. 

Our tainted nature’s solitary boast; 

Purer than foam on central ocean tost. 

Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn 
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon 
Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast, 

Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween, 

Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend 
As to a visible form in which did blend 
All that was mixed and reconciled in thee 
Of mother’s love with maiden purity, 

Of high with low, celestial with terrene. 


THE SONNET. 


Scorn not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned, 
Mindless of its just honors ; with this key 
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody 
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch’s wound ; 
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound ; 

22 


338 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


With it Camoens soothed an exile’s grief; 

The sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf 
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned 
His visionary brow ; a glow-worm lamp, 

It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land 
To struggle through dark ways ; and, when a damp 
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 
The thing became a trumpet ; whence he blew 
Soul-animating strains—alas, too few ! 


ODE ON THE INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 


I. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth and every common sight, 

To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light, 

The glory and the freshness of a dream. 

It is not now as it has been of yore: 

Turn wheresoe’er I may, 

By night or day, 

The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 


II. 

The rainbow comes and goes, 

And lovely is the rose. 

The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare; 

Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair; 

The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 

But yet I know, where’er I go, 

That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. 


ill. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor’s sound, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


339 


To me alone there came a thought of grief. 

A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong: 

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; 

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; 

I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 

The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 

And all the earth is gay. 

Land and sea 
Give themselves to jollity, 

And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ; 

Thou child of Joy, 

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
Shepherd boy. 

****** 


y. 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: 

The soul that rises with us, our life’s star. 
Hath elsewhere had its setting, 

And cometh from afar, 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness. 

But trailing clouds of glory do we come, 
From God, who is our home. 

Heaven lies about us in our infancy; 

Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
L T pon the growing boy; 

But he beholds the light and whence it flows, 
He sees it in his joy: 

The youth, who, daily, farther from the east 
Must travel, still is nature’s priest, 

And by the vision splendid 
Is on his way attended : 

At length the man perceives it die away, 

And fade into the light of common day. 
****** 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


340 


Francis Jeffrey, 1773-1850. 

At the beginning of the century, a fresh walk in 
literature was opened and cultivated with the most 
brilliant success. This was the new style of review 
and lengthened essay. Reviews indeed had long been 
established in Great Britain,* and Addison, Steele, and 
Johnson had brought the short essay to as great per¬ 
fection as was practicable in that limited species of 
composition. But the Reviews and Magazines to which 
we now allude, brought talent of the first order to bear 
upon periodical criticism, and presented many original 
and brilliant disquisitions on highly important sub¬ 
jects of philosophy, politics, history, and literature. 
The one who took the lead in this great revolution in 
literature was Francis Jeffrey. He was born in the 
city of Edinburgh, in 1773. When the Edinburgh 
Review was first established, in 1802, he was engaged 
in practising with his usual energies the arduous 
profession of the Law. From 1803 to 1829, he was a 
large contributor to the Revieiv and its sole manager. 
When, therefore, we consider the distinguished ability 
which it uniformly displayed, and the high moral 
character it upheld, together with the independence 

* The first English periodical that bore the name of Review was the 
Monthly Review, established in 1749. It advocated the principles of the 
Whigs in politics, and those of the Dissenters in religion. It continued till 
the year 1844. The Edinburgh Review belonged also to the Liberal party. 
To counteract its influence, the London Quarterly Review was founded in 
1809, as an organ of the Tory party. The principal contributors of this last 
were William Gifford, its first editor, John G. Lockhart, who lecame its 
editor in 1824, Scott, George Canning, and Southey. In 1817, Blackwood 
founded his Edinburgh Magazine, in opposition to the Edinburgh Review 
and in behalf of the Tories. The editor was John Wilson with a staff of 
eminent writers, as Sir William Hamilton, Dr. Moir (under the pseudonym 
of Delta), Sir Archibald Alison, Sir David Brewster, Sir William Maginn, 
Hogg (the Ettrick Shepherd), De Quincey, and Scott. Reviews are now 
numbered by scores. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


341 


and fearlessness with which from the first it promul¬ 
gated its canons of criticism on literature, science, and 
government, we must admit that few others exercised 
such influence as Francis Jeffrey on the current of con¬ 
temporary literature and public opinion. He selected 
the departments of poetry, biography, and moral phi¬ 
losophy, with occasional excursions into the neighbor¬ 
ing domains of history and politics. 

Alison says of him: * “ He was fitted by nature to 

be a great critic. A passionate admirer of poetry, 
alive to all the beauties and influences of nature, with 
feeling mind and sensitive heart, he possessed at the 
same time the calm judgment which enabled him to 
form an impartial opinion on the works submitted to 
his examination, and the correct taste which in gen¬ 
eral discovered genius and detected imperfections in 
them.” In 1829, he was chosen Dean of the Faculty of 
Advocates; and, on his election to this office, he re¬ 
signed the editorship of the Review into the hands of 
Macvey Napier. The year 1830 brought Jeffrey prom¬ 
inently into public life by his appointment as Lord- 
Advocate—the Prime Minister of Scotland—and, a 
year after, by his election to Parliament. His judicial 
labors were relieved by occasional contributions to the 
Edinburgh. A selection from his essays appeared in 
1844, in three volumes, being only about a third of 
what he had actually written for the Review. His 
criticisms on Cowper, Crabbe, Byron, Scott, and 
Campbell, as well as on the earlier lights of English 
literature, Shakespeare and Milton, are written with 
acuteness and freshness. He himself tells us that his 
principle was to combine ethical precepts with lit* 
erary criticism, subordinating art and knowledge to 


* Hist, of Europe, 2d Series, Vol. I., p. 148. 





342 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


moral duty. To this principle he generally adheres, 
.and some most vigorous rebukes of licentiousness .and 
infidelity are to be found in his pages. 

During the latter years of his life, though his health 
received several severe shocks, his cheerfulness and 
clearness of intellect were undiminished. He sat in 
open court until within four days of his death, which 
happened in January, 1850. 

ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Our first literature consisted of saintly legends, and roman¬ 
ces of chivalry,—though Chaucer gave it a more national and 
popular character, by his original descriptions of external na¬ 
ture, and the familiarity and gayety of his social humor. In 
the time of Elizabeth, it received a copious infusion of classi¬ 
cal images and ideas: but It was still intrinsically romantic— 
serious—and even somewhat lofty and enthusiastic. Authors 
were then so few in number, that they were looked upon with a 
sort of veneration, and considered as a kind of inspired per¬ 
sons;—at least they were not yet so numerous as to be obliged 
to abuse each other, in order to obtain a share of distinction 
for themselves;—and they neither affected a tone of derision, 
in their writings, nor wrote in fear of derision from others. 
They were filled with their subjects, and dealt with them fear¬ 
lessly in their own way; and the stamp of originality, force, 
aiid freedom, is consequently upon almost all their produc¬ 
tion's. In the reign of James I., our literature, with some few 
exceptions touching rather the form than the substance of its 
merits, appears to us to have reached the greatest perfection 
to which it has yet attained; though it would probably have 
advanced still further in the succeeding reign, had not the 
great national dissensions which then arose, turned the talent 
and energy of the people into other channels—first, to the as¬ 
sertion of their civil rights, and afterwards to the discussion 
of their religious interests. The graces of literature suffered 
of course in those fierce contentions; and a deeper shade of. 
austerity was thrown upon the intellectual character of the 
nation. Her genius, however, though less captivating and 
adorned than in the happier days which preceded, was still 
active, fruitful, and commanding; and the period of the civil 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


343 


wars, besides tlie mighty minds that guided the public councils, 
and were absorbed in public cares, produced the giant powers 
of Taylor, and Hobbes, and Barrow—the muse of Milton—the 
learning of Coke—and the ingenuity of Cowley. 

The Restoration introduced a French court—under circum¬ 
stances more favorable for the effectual exercise of court influ¬ 
ence than ever before existed in England: but this of itself 
would not have been sufficient to account for the sudden 
change in our literature which ensued. It was seconded by 
causes of far more general operation. The Restoration was 
undoubtedly a popular act;—and, indefensible as the conduct 
of the army and the civil leaders was on that occasion, there 
can be no question that the severities of Cromwell, and the ex¬ 
travagances of the sectaries, had made republican professions 
hateful, and religious ardor ridiculous, in the eyes of a great 
proportion of the people. All the eminent writers of the pre¬ 
ceding period, however, had inclined to the party that was 
now overthrown; and tlieir writings had not merely been ac¬ 
commodated to the character of the government under which 
they were produced, but were deeply imbued with its obnox¬ 
ious principles, which were those of their respective authors. 
When the restraints of authority were taken off, therefore, and 
it became profitable, as well as popular, to discredit the fallen 
party, it was natural that the leading authors should affect a 
style of levity and derision, as most opposite to that of their op¬ 
ponents, and best calculated for the purpose they had in view. 
The nation, too, was now for the first time essentially divided 
in point of character and principle, and a much greater propor¬ 
tion were capable both of writing in support of their own no¬ 
tions, and of being influenced by what was written. Add to 
all this, that there were real and serious defects in the style 
and manner of the former generation ; and that the grace, and 
brevity, and vivacity of that gayer manner which was now in¬ 
troduced from France, were not only good and captivating in 
themselves, but had then all the charms of novelty and of con¬ 
trast ; and it will not be difficult to understand how it came to 
supplant that which had been established of old in the coun¬ 
try. 


344 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


John Lingard, 1771-1851. 

John Lingard, the celebrated historian, was born of 
Catholic parents at Winchester, in 1771. At the age 
of eleven, he was sent to the English College at Douay, 
where he was distinguished no less for the brilliancy of 
his talents than for a rare modesty of disposition. 
Driven back to England by the horrors of the French 
Revolution, he completed his course of theology in his 
native country, and was raised to the priesthood in 
April, 1795. For some months previous to his ordina¬ 
tion, he had acted as vice-president of Crook Hall, 
where a small party of the Douay students had lately 
resumed their collegiate exercises: he now became 
prefect of the studies of this institution, and, for many 
years, filled with eminent success the chair both of 
natural and moral philosophy. 

From an early period, the mind of Lingard had been 
accustomed to dwell on the antiquities of his country, 
and his spare moments at Crook Hall were devoted to 
•the same object. The result of his studies appeared in 
a work entitled, The Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon 
Church, which evinces depth of research and uncom¬ 
mon penetration of mind. It was published in 1806, 
in two volumes. Five years later, the reverend author 
quitted the professional chair, and withdrew to the se¬ 
cluded mission of Hornby. Availing himself of the 
leisure afforded him in his new situation, Lingard gave 
to the world several minor publications, all exhibiting 
much ability and learning. But it was not till after 
repeated solicitations from his friends, after many 
years of silent and almost unconscious preparation, that 
he applied his energies to the great work on which 
his reputation is founded: the History of England 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


345 


from the Invasion of the Romans to the Accession of 
William and Mary. The eight volumes of the first 
edition were published in succession between the 
years 1819 and 1830. 

To talents of a high order, both as regards acuteness 
of analysis and powers of description and narrative, Dr. 
Lingard added unconquerable industry. Sources of 
information new and important were also opened to 
him. He drew his material from original documents, 
which he himself had examined with diligence: and, on 
many points, gave new and correct views of manners, 
events, and characters. The truthfulness of his His¬ 
tory is now admitted on all hands. “His work,” says 
Chambers, “was subjected to a rigid scrutiny by Dr. 
Allen in two elaborate articles in the Edinburgh Re¬ 
view, and by Rev. W. Todd in his defence of the char¬ 
acter of Cranmer. To these antagonists Dr. Lingard 
replied, in 1826, by A Vindication of his fidelity as a 
historian, which affords an excellent specimen of con¬ 
troversial writing. His work has now taken its place 
among the most valuable of our national histories.” 
“His style,” according to the Edinburgh Review, “ is 
nervous and concise, and never enfeebled by useless 
epithets, or encumbered with redundant, unmeaning 
phrases. If it be deficient in that happy negligence 
and apparent ease of expression—if it want ‘ those 
careless inimitable beauties 9 which, in Hume, excited 
the despair and admiration of Gibbon—there is no 
other modern history with which it may not challenge 
a comparison. The narrative of Lingard has the per¬ 
spicuity of Robertson, with more freedom and fancy. 
His diction has the ornament of Gibbon, without his 
affectation and obscurity. . . . His narrative has a 
freshness of character, a stamp of originality not to be. 
found in any general history of England in common 


346 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


use. To borrow his own metaphor, he has not drawn 
from the troubled stream, but drunk from the foun¬ 
tain-head.” * 

In his desire to conciliate the minds of *his Protest¬ 
ant countrymen, Dr. Lingard adopted the views of the 
Gallican school in regard to the exercise of the papal 
authority. His concessions on this head are not a lit¬ 
tle shocking to genuine Catholics. Yet, whilst they 
regret not to see their Church presented in a truer and 
more amiable light, they should make great allowance 
for the peculiar circumstances which surrounded the 
historian. It was with this view that Pope Leo XII. 
said of those who assailed the moderation of the writer: 
“■ Why, these gentlemen seem not to reflect either upon 
the times or the places in which the history was written.” 
Pius VII. had also acknowledged the merits of Lin¬ 
gard by conferring on him the triple academical laurel, 
D.D. and LL.D., and Leo XII. intended to add the 
cardinal's hat, but was deterred by the historian’s anx¬ 
iety to avert the threatened dignity. Of the high esti¬ 
mation in which Lingard’s History is held by English 
Catholics, we may form an idea from the following trib¬ 
ute paid to his memory by Cardinal Wiseman: “ It is a 
Providence that, in history, we have had given to the 
nation a writer like Lingard, whose gigantic merit will 
be better appreciated in each successive generation, as it 
sees his work standing calm and erect amidst the shoals 
of petty pretenders to usurp his station. When Hume 
shall have fairly taken his place among the classical 
writers of our tongue, and Macaulay shall have been 
transferred to the shelves of romancers and poets, 
and each shall thus have received his due meed of 
praise, then Lingard will be still more conspicuous as 


* Edinb. Rev., 1825 aud 1826. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


347 


the only impartial historian of our country. This is 
a mercy indeed, and rightful honor to him, who, at 
such a period of time, worked his way, not into a high 
rank, but to the very loftiest point of literary posi¬ 
tion.” 

Among the minor ivorks published by Dr. Lingard, 
we may notice his Translation of the Four Gospels ; 
his Catechetical Instructions, and many articles of a 
polemical or historical character, contributed to vari¬ 
ous periodicals. 

The venerable historian tranquilly breathed his last 
in July, 1851, in the eighty-first year of his age. 

DEATH OF MARY STUART. 

The procession now set forward. It was headed by the 
sheriff and his officers ; next followed Paw let and Drury, and 
the earls of Shrewsbury and Kent; and, lastly, came the Scot¬ 
tish queen, with Melville bearing her train. She wore the 
richest of her dresses, that which was appropriate to the rank 
of a queen dowager. Her step was firm, and her countenance 
cheerful. She bore without shrinking the gaze of the specta¬ 
tors, and the sight of the scaffold, the block, and the execu¬ 
tioner; and advanced into the hall with that grace and majesty 
which she had so often displayed in her happier days, and in 
the palace of her fathers. To aid her, as she mounted the 
scaffold, Pawlet offered his arm. “ I thank you, sir,” said 
Mary; “it is the last trouble I shall give you, and the most ac¬ 
ceptable service you have ever rendered me.” 

The queen seated herself on a stool which was prepared for 
her. On her right stood the two earls; on the left, the sheriff, 
and Beal, the clerk of the council; in front, the executioner 
from the Tower, in a suit of black velvet, with his assistant 
also.clad in black. The warrant .was read, and Mary in an 
audible voice addressed the assembly. She would have them 
recollect, she said, that she was a sovereign princess, not sub¬ 
ject to the Parliament of England, but brought there to suffer 
by injustice and violence. She, however, thanked her God 
that he had given her this opportunity of publicly professing 
her religion, and of declaring, as she had often before de- 


348 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


dared, that slie had never imagined, nor compassed, nor con¬ 
sented to the death of the English queen, nor ever sought the 
least harm to her person. After her death, many things, which 
were then buried in darkness, would come to light. But she 
pardoned -from her heart all her enemies, nor should her 
tongue utter that which might turn to their prejudice. Here 
she was interrupted by Dr. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, 
who, having caught her eye, began to preach, and under the 
cover, perhaps through motives, of zeal, contrived to insult the 
feelings of the unfortunate sufferer. He told her that his mis¬ 
tress, though compelled to execute justice on her body, was 
careful of the welfare of her soul; that she had sent him to 
bring her to the true fold of Christ, out of the communion of 
that Church, in which, if she remained, she must be damned; 
that she might yet find mercy before God, if she would repent 
of her wickedness, acknowledge the justice of her punish¬ 
ment, and profess her gratitude for the favors which she had 
received from Elizabeth. Mary repeatedly desired him not to 
trouble himself and her. He persisted: she turned aside. He 
made the circuit of the scaffold, and again addressed her in 
front. An end was put to this extraordinary scene by the 
Earl of Shrewsbury, who ordered him to pray. His prayer 
was the echo of liis sermon; but Mary heard him not. She 
was employed at the time in her devotions, repeating with a 
loud voice, and in the Latin language, long passages from the 
Book of Psalms. When he had done, she prayed in English 
for Christ’s afflicted Church, for her son James, and for 
Queen Elizabeth. At the conclusion, holding up the crucifix, 
she exclaimed: “ As thy arms, O God, were stretched out upon 
the cross, so receive me into the arms of thy mercy, and for¬ 
give me my sins.” “ Madam,” said the Earl of Kent, “you 
had better leave such popish trumperies, and bear him in your 
heart.” She replied: “ I cannot hold in my hand the represen¬ 
tation of his sufferings, but I must at the same time bear him in 
my heart.” 

When her maids, bathed in tears, began to disrobe their mis¬ 
tress, the executioners, fearing, to lose their usual perquisites, 
hastily interfered. The queen remonstrated, but instantly 
submitted to their rudeness, observing to the earls with a 
smile, that she was not accustomed to employ such grooms, or 
to undress in the presence of so numerous a company. Her 
servants, at the sight of their sovereign in this lamentable 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


349 


state, could not suppress their feelings; but Mary, putting her 
finger to her lips, commanded silence, gave them her blessing, 
and solicited their prayers. She then seated herself again. 
Kennedy, taking a handkerchief edged with gold, pinned it 
over her eyes; the executioners, holding her by the arms, led 
her to the block; and the queen, kneeling down, said repeat¬ 
edly, with a firm voice, “ Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend 
my spirit.” But the sobs and groans of the spectators discon¬ 
certed the headsman. He trembled, missed his aim, and in¬ 
flicted a deep wound in the lower part of the skull. The queen 
remained motionless, and, at the third stroke, her head was 
severed from the body. When the executioner held it up, the 
muscles of the face were so strongly convulsed, that the feat¬ 
ures could not be recognized. He cried as usual, “ God save 
Queen Elizabeth.” 

“So perish all her enemies !” subjoined the Dean of Peter¬ 
borough. 

“So perish all the enemies of the Gospel! ” exclaimed, in a 
still louder tone, the fanatical Earl of Kent. 

Not a voice was heard to cry Amen. Party feeling was ab¬ 
sorbed in admiration and pity. 

Thomas Moore, 1779-1852. 

Thomas Moore, the ‘ sweet son of song/ was born in 
Dublin, in the year 1779. After the usual course of 
study, he entered Trinity College in his native city, 
and soon gave proof that he had made more than or¬ 
dinary progress in the department of classical scholar¬ 
ship. His first work was a translation into English 
verse of the Odes of Anacreon , in which he exhibits 
great extent of reading, and no mean proficiency in 
Greek philology. Soon after this, he published his 
miscellaneous poems, under the pseudonym of Thomas 
Little. Though this volume established his poetical 
reputation, it was severely censured for the sensual and 
immoral tone of too many of the pieces. In 1800, he 
visited the United States ; and, soon after his return to 
England, published his remarks on American society 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


350 

and manners in a volume entitled, Epistles , Odes, and 
other Poems , which, like the poems ascribed to Little, 
is objectionable in a moral point of view. In 1812, he 
commenced a series of political and personal satires, 
full of the most happy turns of ingenuity and playful 
fancy ; for the time extremely popular, but destined, 
on account of the merely temporary interest of their 
topics, speedily to pass away and be forgotten. Among 
them are the Two-penny Post-hag, or Intercepted Let¬ 
ters ; the Fudge Family in Paris, supposed to be writ¬ 
ten by a party of English travellers at the French capi¬ 
tal ; and the Parody on a Celebrated Letter , in which 
every line has its open or covert sting. But the work 
upon which rests Moore’s widest and most enduring 
reputation is his volume of Irish Melodies —a collection 
of about 124 lyrics, adapted to Irish national airs of 
great beauty. In whatever corner of the world there 
vibrates a Celtic tongue, or palpitates a Celtic heart, 
there the Melodies find an echo, there they are read 
and sung with enthusiasm. 

Moore composed also a series of Sacred Songs, and 
seventy other songs adapted to tunes peculiar to various 
countries. In 1817, appeared the celebrated Oriental 
Komance, Lalla Rookh, consisting of several stories 
strung together and written in rhymed couplets. The 
slender plot of these stories is related in that ingenious 
and sparkling prose of which Moore was a consum¬ 
mate master. There is in Lalla Rookh a profusion of 
ornament so thickly sown, that the effect is like that 
of some Oriental robe, in which the whole texture is 
hidden beneath an unbroken surface of ruby and dia¬ 
mond. 

In 1825, was published his Life of Sheridan, and, in 
1830, his Life of Byron. They are not so much lives 
as memoirs ; the author allows the subject of the biog- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 351 

raphy to tell his own story ; and the bulk of the book 
consists of extracts from the journals and correspon¬ 
dence of the person whose life we are reading. Moore 
is also the author of The Epicurean, a tale ; The Me¬ 
moirs of Captain Rock ; The Sceptic, a philosophical 
satire, and The History of Ireland . 

llis Travels of an Irish Gentleman in Search of a 
Religion is a controversial work which deserves special 
notice, as giving evidence of deep thought and reading. 
In the collection of Protestant opinions and testimo¬ 
nies, and in the truly learned and striking view of the 
spirit and progress of German rationalism ; and indeed 
in the arrangement and moulding of the matter of the 
whole work, there are exhibited the workings of a mind 
eminently active, vigorous, and original. We have no 
objection to see the pillars of truth wreathed with the 
flowers of fancy, which adorn without concealing the 
strength ; at least, we are sure that the class of read¬ 
ers to whom Moore addressed himself, expected so 
much, and would not have been satisfied with less.* 
Moore's excellencies consist in the gracefulness of his 
thoughts and sentiments, the wit and fancy of his al¬ 
lusions and imagery, and the music and refinement of 
his versification. His great fault is the irreverence 
and indelicacy of many of his pieces. The'last three 
years of his life were burdened with a lingering disease, 
which, gradually enervating the mind, finally reduced 
him to a state of childish imbecility. His death oc¬ 
curred in 1852. 


THOU ART, O GOD. 

Thou art, O God, the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night, 

Are but reflections caught from Thee. 


* Dublin Review, No. 30. 



352 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Where’er we turn Thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine! 

When day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the opening clouds of even, 

And we can almost think we gaze 
Through golden vistas into heaven— 

Those hues that make the sun’s decline 
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine. 

When night, with wings of starry gloom, 
O’ersliadows all the earth and skies, 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes— 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine. 

When youthful spring around us breathes, 
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh; 

And every flower the summer wreathes 
Is born beneath that kindling eye. 

Where’er we turn, Thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine! 

THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW. 

This world is all a fleeting show, 

Forman’s illusion given; 

The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, 

Deceitful shine, deceitful flow— 

There’s nothing true but heaven! 

And false the light on glory’s plume, 

As fading hues of even! 

And love and hope and beauty’s bloom 
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb— 
There’s nothing bright but heaven! 

Poor wanderers of a stormy day! 

From wave to wave we’re driven, 

And fancy’s flash and reason’s ray 
Serve but to light the troubled way— 

There’s nothing calm but heaven! 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


353 


WAR SONG. 

Remember the glories of Brian the Brave.* * * § 

Remember the glories of Brian tlie brave. 

Though the days of the hero are o’er; 

Though lost to Mononia,t and cold in the grave, 

He returns to Iviukora f no more! 

That star of the held, which so often has poured 
Its beam on the battle, is set; 

But enough of its glory remains on each sword 
To light us to victory yet! 

• 

Mononia! when nature embellished the tint 
Of thy holds and thy mountains so fair, 

Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print 
The footstep of slavery there ? 

No, Freedom! whose smile we shall never resign. 

Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, 

’Tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, 

Than to sleep but a moment in chains! 

Forget not our wounded companions who stood § 

In the day of distress by our side; 

While the moss of the valley grew red with tlieir blood, 
They stirred not, but conquered and died! 

The sun that now blesses our arms with his light, 

Saw them fall upon Ossory’s plain! 

Oh, let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, 

To find that they fell there in vain! 


* Brian Boru, the great monarch of Ireland, who was lulled at the battle 
of Clontarf, in the beginning of the eleventh century, after having defeated 
the Danes in twenty-five engagements. 

t Munster. 

X The palace of Brian. 

§ This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dalgais, the fa¬ 
vorite troops of Brian, when they were interrupted in their return from the 
battle of Clontarf by Fitzpatrick, Prince of Ossory. The wounded men en¬ 
treated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest. “ Let stakes ,” 
they said, “ be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of us, tied to and sup¬ 
ported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank by the side of a sound 
man." “ Between seven and eight hundred men,” adds O’Halloran, “ pale, 
emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost 
of the troops—never was such another sight exhibited.”— History of Ire¬ 
land, book xii., chap. i. 




354 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA’S HALLS. 

The liarp that once through Tara’s halls 
The soul of music shed, 

Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls 
As if that soul were fled. 

So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory’s thrill is o’er, 

And hearts that once beat high for praise, 
Now feel that pulse no more! 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright, 

• The harp of Tara swells; 

The chord alone that breaks at night, 

Its talc of ruin tells. 

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives 
Is when some heart indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 

BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

By the hope within us springing, 

Herald of to-morrow’s strife; 

By that sun whose light is bringing 
Chains or freedom, death or life— 

Oh! remember, life can be 
No charm for him that lives not free! 

Like the day-star in the wave, 

Sinks a hero to his grave, 

Midst the dew-fall of a nation’s tears! 

Blessed is he o’er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing shine, 
And light him down the steep of years: 

But, oh, how grand they sink to rest 
Who close their eyes on victory’s breast! 
O’er his watch-fire’s fading embers 
Now the foeman’s cheek turns white, 
While his heart that field remembers 
Where we dimmed his glory’s light! 

Never let him bind again 
A chain like that we broke from then. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


Hark! the horn of combat calls— 

Oh, before the evening falls. 

May we pledge that horn in triumph round! 

Many a heart that now beats high, 

In slumber cold at night shall lie, 

Nor waken even at victory’s sound: 

But, oh, how blest that hero’s sleep, 

O’er whom a wondering world shall weep! 

AFTER TIIE BATTLE. 

Night closed around the conquerors way, 

And lightning showed the distant hill, 

Where those who lost that dreadful day, 

Stood few and faint, but fearless still! 

The soldier’s hope, the patriot’s zeal, 

Forever dimmed, forever crost— 

Oh, who shall say what heroes feel, 

When all but life and honor’s lost! 

The last sad hour of freedom’s dream 
And valor’s task moved slowly by, 

While mute they watched till morning's beam 
Should rise and give them light to die! 

There is a world where souls are free, 

Where tyrants taint not nature’s bliss; 

If death that world’s bright opening be, 

Oh! who would live a slave in this ? 

DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY. 

Dear Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, 
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, 
When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound tlice, 
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song! 
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness 
Have wakened thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; 

But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, 
That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. 

Dear Harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers, 
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine; 
Go, sleep with the sunshine of fame on thy slumbers, 
Till touched by some hand less unworthy than mine. 


35G 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 

Has throbbed at our lay, ’tis thy glory alone; 

I was but as the wind passing heedlessly over, 

And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own. 

IIehry Hallam, 1778-1859. 

Henry Hallam, one of the most distinguished of 
modern historians, was born about 1778, and was edu¬ 
cated at Eton and Oxford. He was a valued friend of 
Sir Walter Scott, and both were engaged at the same 
time as contributors to the Edinburgh Review. In 1830, 
he received one of the two fifty-guinea gold medals in¬ 
stituted by George IV. for eminence in historical com¬ 
position, the other being awarded to our celebrated 
countryman, Washington Irving. Hallam is the au¬ 
thor of three great works, any one of which is sufficient 
to confer upon the author literary immortality. 

1st. View of the State of Europe during the Middle 
Ages. The period of the Middle Ages, according to 
him, extends from the middle of the fifth to the end of 
the fifteenth century : from the establishment of Clo¬ 
vis in Gaul to the invasion of Italy by Charles VIII. It 
is a work of profound research, displaying a free and 
vigorous spirit of inquiry and criticism, and is the most 
complete and highly finished of his valuable produc¬ 
tions. 

2d. Constitutional History of England from the ac¬ 
cession of Henry VII. to the death of George II. In 
the review of this history, Macaulay says : “Hallam’s 

knowledge is extensive, various, and profound. 

His work is eminently judicial; its whole spirit, that 
of the bench, not that of the bar. He sums up with a 
calm, steady impartiality, turning neither to the right 
nor to the left, glossing over nothing, exaggerating 
nothing, while the advocates on both sides are alter- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


357 


nately biting their lips to hear their conflicting mis¬ 
statements and sophisms exposed. On a general sur¬ 
vey, we do not scruple to pronounce the Constitutional 
History to be the most impartial book that we ever 
read.” 

3d. Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the 
Fifteenth , Sixteenth , and Seventeenth Centuries. “ This 
is a production,” says Chancellor Kent, “of the great¬ 
est value, and distinguished like his other works, for 
research, judgment, taste, and elegance.” The fol¬ 
lowing splendid testimonial of its merit is from the 
Edinburgh Review. “Most assuredly the reader who 
does not employ it merely to fill up the leisure of a few 
hours, but consults it for guidance, and refers to its 
authority, will never use it without an augmented 
sense of its value and respect for its author. He will 
be struck with the modest simplicity with which its 
stores of very extensive erudition are displayed. He 
will be struck with an honesty, even in the mere con¬ 
duct of the work, rarely found in publications pretend¬ 
ing to anything like the same amount of research.” 
Other critics,* whilst admitting HallanTs candor and 
honesty, and believing him wholly incapable of distort¬ 
ing truth to serve party purposes, are compelled to 
add that he is not entirely free from that kind of par¬ 
tiality which is the offspring of involuntary prejudice 
and early education. 

Hallam, like Burke, in his later years “ lived in an 
inverted order : they who ought to have succeeded him 
had gone before him; they who should have been to 
him as posterity, were in the place of ancestors.” 
These bereavements were keenly felt by him; for he 
was a man of warm and gentle affections. The emi¬ 
nent historian died in January, 1859, having reached 
the great age of eighty-one. 


* See Dublin Review, 1st series, Nos. XIX. and XX. 



358 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


SHAKESPEARE. 

The name of Shakespeare is the greatest in our literature— 
it is the greatest in all literature. No man ever came near to 
him in the creative powers of the mind; no man ever had such 
strength at once, and such variety of imagination. Coleridge 
has most felicitously applied to him a Greek epithet, given 
before to I know nut whom, certainly none so deserving of it, 
fivpiovovc the tliousand-souled Shakespeare. The number of 
characters in his plays is astonishingly great, without reckon¬ 
ing those who, although transient, have often their individual¬ 
ity all distinct, all types of human life in well-defined differ¬ 
ences. . . . This it is in which he leaves far behind, not the 
dramatists alone, but all writers of fiction. Compare with him 
Homer, the tragedians of Greece, the poets of Italy, Plautus, 
Cervantes Moliere, Addison, Le Sage, Fielding, Richardson, 
Scott, the romancers of the elder or later schools—one man 
has far more than surpassed them all. Others may have been 
as sublime, others may have equalled him in grace and purity 
of language, and have shunned some of its faults; but the 
philosophy of Shakespeare, his intimate searching out of the 
human heart, whether in the gnomic form of sentence, or in 
the dramatic exhibition of character, is a gift peculiarly his 
own. . . . 

The idolatry of Shakespeare has been carried so far of late 
years, that Drake and perhaps greater authorities have been 
unwilling to acknowledge any faults in his plays. This, how¬ 
ever, is an extravagance rather derogatory to the critic than 
honorable to the poet. Besides the blemishes of construction 
in some of his plots, which are pardonable, but still blem¬ 
ishes, there are too many in his style. His conceits and quib¬ 
bles often spoil the effect of his scenes, and take off from the 
passion he would excite. . . . Few will defend these notorious 
faults. But is there not one, less frequently mentioned, yet of 
more continual recurrence,—the extreme obscurity of Shake¬ 
speare’s diction? His style is full of new words and new 
senses. It is easy to pass this over as obsoleteness; 1 ut it is 
impossible to deny that innumerable lines in Shakespeare 
were not more intelligible in his time than they are at present. 
Much of this may be forgiven, or, rather, is so incorporated 
with the strength of his reason and fancy that we love it as the 
proper body of Shakespeare’s soul. Still, can we justify the 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


359 


very numerous passages which yield to no interpretation- 
knots which are never unloosed—which conjecture does not 
cut—or even those which, if they may at last Le understood, 
keep the attention in perplexity till the first emotion has 
passed away? We learn Shakespeare, in fact, as we learn a 
language, or as we read a difficult passage in Greek, with the 
eye glancing on the commentary; and it is only after much 
study that we come to forget a part, it can be but a part, of the 
perplexities he has caused us. This was no doubt one reason 
that he was less read formerly, his style passing for obsolete, 
though in many parts, as we have just said, it was never much 
more intelligible than it is. 

Thomas Babington Macaulay, 1800-1859. 

T. B. Macaulay, one of the most attractive, if not the 
most learned, of British essayists and critics, was born 
in 1800 at Rothly Temple. In 1818, he was entered 
at Trinity College, Cambridge; and in 1821, he w r as 
elected to a ‘ Craven scholarship/ the highest distinction 
in classics which the University confers. In 1825, ap¬ 
peared his celebrated article on Milton, in the Edin¬ 
burgh Review. It bears marks of a youthful taste, but 
no less certainty of that genius which has made its 
author the most brilliant contributor to our critical 
literature. In 1826, he was called to the bar; and, in 
1830, he entered Parliament. An appointment as 
legal adviser of the Supreme Court of Calcutta took 
him to India, where he was placed at the head of the 
commission for the reform of Indian law. The study 
of Indian history to which that appointment led, pro¬ 
duced the essays on Lord Clive, 1840; and on Warren 
Hastings, 1841. His Lays of Ancient Rome appeared 
in 1842. He chants them in the martial stories of 
Horatius Codes, the battle of the Lake Regillus, the 
death of Virginia, and the prophecy of Capys, with a 
simplicity and fire that win our hearts. These ancient 
ballads had been preceded by others on modem topics, 


360 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


as The Battle of Ivry, The Cavalier’s March to London, 
The Spanish Armada , and A Song of the Huguenots. In 
1843, Lord Macaulay published a collection of Critical 
and Historical Essays, contributed to the Edinburgh 
Review, which are still unrivalled among the produc¬ 
tions of this class. His review of HallanTs Constitu¬ 
tional History of England, and his sketches of Sir Rob¬ 
ert Walpole, Chatham, Sir William Temple, Clive, and 
Warren Hastings, form a series of brilliant and com¬ 
plete historical retrospects and summaries, unequalled 
in our literature, while his contributions to the bio¬ 
graphical portion of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, in 
the lives of Atterbury, Bunyan, Goldsmith, Johnson, 
and the second William Pitt, exhibit his powers in 
other and various departments. It is, however, but 
just to observe that the brilliancy and erudition of the 
essayist are no guarantee against false views, false inter¬ 
pretations, and false conclusions. The writings of Ma¬ 
caulay are exceedingly attractive; but, certainly, they 
are no safe guide in the appreciation of men and events. 

In 1848, appeared the first two volumes of his great 
historical work. The History of England from the Acces¬ 
sion of James II. The five volumes, the last of which 
is posthumous, give the history of little more than fif¬ 
teen years, leaving nearly the whole of the eighteenth 
century untouched. The work is therefore, in one 
sense, only a fragment. Its success, however, was 
most extraordinary. Its fascinating style, its portraits 
of historical personages, all brought before us in life 
and action, and the genius with which the facts and 
events are grouped and described, render the charm 
irresistible. But, in producing his distinct and strik¬ 
ing impressions, the historian is charged with painting 
too strongly and exaggerating his portraits. He does 
not make allowance for the character and habits of the 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


361 


times; and he seizes upon doubtful and obscure inci¬ 
dents, or statements by unscrupulous adversaries, as 
pregnant and infallible proofs of guilt. The following 
is the criticism passed by the Blackwood Magazine: 
“ Everybody read's—everybody admires—but nobody 
believes in—Mr. Macaulay. This, which is perhaps the 
most brilliant of all histories, seems about the least re¬ 
liable of any.” And yet it is a marvellous work, al¬ 
though the thoughtful reader may wish not seldom for 
something less passionate and more judicial. 

Macaulay is reckoned amongst the greatest of Par¬ 
liamentary orators. Whenever he spoke, he was sure 
to have a full House, listening with breathless atten¬ 
tion. But it was the matter and the language, rather 
than the manner, that took the audience captive: for 
his delivery, though rapid and vehement, was ungainly 
and somewhat monotonous. 

In 1857, he obtained the honors of the peerage with 
the title of Baron Macaulay. Two years later, he was 
taken away suddenly, and buried in Westminster Ab¬ 
bey. 

(From The History of England.) 

I purpose to write the History of England from the accession 
of King James the Second down to a time which is within the 
memory of men still living. I shall recount the errors which, 
in a few months, alienated a loyal gentry and priesthood from 
the House of Stuart. I shall trace the course of that revolu¬ 
tion which terminated the long struggle between our sover¬ 
eigns and their parliaments, and bound up together the rights 
of the people and the title of the reigning dynasty. 

I shall relate how the new settlement was, during many 
troubled years, successfully defended against foreign and do¬ 
mestic enemies; how, under that settlement, the authority of 
law and the security of property were found to be compatible 
with a liberty of discussion and of individual action never be¬ 
fore known; how, from the auspicious union of order and free¬ 
dom, sprang a prosperity of which the annals of human affairs 


362 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


had furnished no example; how our country, from a state of 
ignominious vassalage, rapidly rose to the place of umpire 
among European powers; how her opulence and her martial 
glory grew together; how, by wise and resolute good faith, 
was gradually established a public credit fruitful of marvels, 
which to the statesman of any former age would have seemed 
incredible; how a gigantic commerce gave birth to a maritime 
power, compared with which every other maritime power, an¬ 
cient or modern, sinks into insignificance; how Scotland, after 
ages of enmity, was at length united to England, not merely 
by legal bonds, but by indissoluble ties of interest and affec¬ 
tion; how, in America, the British colonies rapidly became far 
mightier and wealthier than the realms which Cortez and Piz- 
arro had added to the dominion of Charles the Fifth; how, iu 
Asia, British adventurers founded an empire not less splendid 
and more durable than that of Alexander. 

Nor will it be less my duty faithfully to record disasters 
mingled with triumphs, and great national crimes and follies 
far more humiliating than any disaster. It will be seen that 
even what we justly account our chief blessings, were not 
without alloy. It will be seen that the system which effectu¬ 
ally secured our liberties against the encroachments of kingly 
power, gave birth to a new class of abuses from which absolute 
monarchies are exempt. It will be seen that, in consequence, 
partly of unwise interference, and partly of unwise neglect, 
the increase of wealth and the extension of trade produced, 
together with immense good, some evils from which poor and 
rude societies are free. It will be seen how, in two important 
dependencies of the crown, wrong was followed by a just retri¬ 
bution ; how imprudence and obstinacy broke the ties which 
bound the North American colonies to the parent State; how 
Ireland, cursed by the domination of race over race, and of re¬ 
ligion over religion, remained indeed a member of the empire, 
but a withered and disordered member, adding no strength to 
the body politic, and reproachfully pointed at by all who 
feared or envied the greatness of England. 

William Makepeace Thackeray, 1811-1863. 

William M. Thackeray was born in Calcutta in the 
year 1811. His father, of an old Yorkshire family, 
was employed in the civil service of the East India 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 363 

Company. The young Thackeray was sent to England 
when seven years old, and was placed at the Charter- 
house School, whence he passed to Cambridge. He 
did not complete his course, but was afterwards dili¬ 
gent to make up his loss. From the University he re¬ 
paired to Rome and other Continental cities, where he 
devoted himself to art-studies during four or five years. 
His proficiency was considerable, and a future of dis¬ 
tinction as a painter seemed to await him. But in con¬ 
sequence of the loss of his fortune, partly through the 
fault of others, and partly through his own, he was 
obliged to turn his attention to other pursuits. He first 
studied law at the Middle Temple, though he was not 
called to the bar until 1848, when his success in letters 
seemed already assured. He was past the age of thirty 
when he settled down to the walks of literature. As a 
correspondent of the London Times, the New Monthly 
Magazine, and other journals and periodicals, he at¬ 
tracted notice; but not until he became a contributor 
to Punch and Frazer’s Magazine did he enjoy popular¬ 
ity. His papers appeared under such fictitious names 
or facetious titles as Michael Angelo Titmarsh, Fitz- 
Boodle, The Fat Contributor, Miss Tickletobv’s Lec¬ 
tures, Jeames’s Diary, Punch in the Fast, Punch’s 
Prize Novelists, The Snob Papers, The Traveller in 
London, Mr. Brown’s Letters to a Young Man about 
Town, the Proser, etc. He wrote with equal facility 
in verse and prose. His Vanity Fair, illustrated by 
himself, or, to employ his own metaphor, ‘ illuminated 
with the author’s own candles,’ was the first of his 
more elaborate productions that was published under 
Thackeray’s own name (1847-48). It placed him in the 
highest rank of the masters of English fiction, and 
though some of his later works at once attained a wider 
circulation, and confirmed their author as a classic of 


364 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


tlie purest style, and an essayist of the most elegant 
satire. Vanity Fair is esteemed among competent 
critics as his masterpiece. The Edinburgh Review, 
long after public opinion had been made upon the mer¬ 
its of this novel, and many editions had been exhausted, 
described it as f one of the most remarkable books of 
this age,—a book which is as sure of immortality as 
ninety-nine hundredths of modern novels are sure of 
annihilation/ Becky.Sharp, the heroine of the story, 
is the best drawn of all his female characters, her love 
of conspiracy, and her repulsive, uniform selfishness 
not abating a jot from the naturalness of the creation. 
The description of the battle of Waterloo introduced 
in Vanity Fair , may be regarded in the department of 
prose as not inferior to Byron’s lines in Cliilde Harold 
on the same subject. They will ever be admired as 
companion-pictures of genius. In a moral point of 
view, Thackeray’s writings are open to serious objec¬ 
tion. The fundamental principle which underlies 
them, is the total depravity of human nature, render¬ 
ing virtue an impossibility, and religious practice a 
sham. As Catholics, we know that the human power 
for good was weakened, not destroyed, by the fall of 
Adam, and that the grace of Christ may yet raise men 
to the sublimest virtue. 

Thackeray was a voluminous author, leaving behind 
him twenty-five or thirty volumes of essays, poems, 
satirical papers, and novels. The greatest of his works, 
in addition to Vanity Fair , are Pendennis, Esmond , 
The New comes, The Virginians, and his Lectures on 
the English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century and 
the Four Georges . 

Thackeray died suddenly from effusion of the brain, 
in 1863. A monument to his memory has been erected 
in the Poet’s corner of Westminster Abbey. 


TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


365 


THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 

All that day, from morning until past sunset, the cannon 
ceased not to roar. It was dark when the cannonading stopped 
all of a sudden. 

All of us have read of what occurred during that interval. 
The tale is in every Englishman’s mouth; and you and I, who 
were children when the great battle was won and lost, are 
never tired of hearing and recounting the history of that fa¬ 
mous action. Its remembrance rankles still in the bosoms of 
millions of the countrymen of those brave men who lost the 
day. They pant for an opportunity of revenging that humilia¬ 
tion; and if a contest, ending in a victory on their part, should 
ensue, elating them in their turn, and leaving its cursed legacy 
of hatred and rage behind to us, there is no end to the so- 
called glory and shame, and to the alternations of successful 
and unsuccessful murder, in which two high-spirited nations 
might engage. Centuries hence, we Frenchmen and English¬ 
men might be boasting and killing each other still, carrying 
out bravely the Devil’s code of honor. 

All our friends took their share, and fought like men in the 
great field. All day long, whilst the women were praying ten 
miles away, the lines of the dauntless English infantry were 
receiving and repelling the furious charges of the French horse¬ 
men. Guns which were heard at Brussels were ploughing up 
their ranks, and comrades falling, and the resolute survivor 
closing in. Towards evening, the attack of the French, re¬ 
peated and resisted so bravely, slackened in its fury. They 
had other foes besides the British to engage, or were prepar¬ 
ing for a final onset. It came at last; the columns of the Im¬ 
perial Guard marched up the hill of Saint Jean, at length and 
at once to sweep the English from the height which they had 
maintained all day and spite of all; unscared by the thunder 
of the artillery, which hurled death from the English line,— 
the dark rolling column pressed on and up the hill. It seemed 
almost to crest the eminence, when it began to waver and 
falter. Then it stopped, still facing the shot. Then, at last, 
the English troops rushed from the post from which no enemy 
had been able to dislodge then, And the Guard turned and fled. 

No more firing was heard at Brussels,—the pursuit rolled 
miles away. Darkness came down on the field and city; and 
Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, 
dead, with a bullet through his heart. 


366 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


swift’s torture of SOUL. 

(From The English Humorists.) 

It is my belief that Swift suffered frightfully from the con¬ 
sciousness of his own scepticism, and that he had bent his 
pride so far down as to put his apostasy out to hire. The 
paper left behind him, called Thoughts on Religion, is merely 
a set of excuses for not professing disbelief. He says of his 
sermons that he preached pamphlets : they have scarce a 
Christian characteristic ; they might be preached from the 
steps of a synagogue, or the floor of a mosque, or the box of a 
coffee-house almost. There is little or no cant—he is too 
great and too proud for that ; and, in so far as the badness of 
his sermons goes, he is honest. But having put that cassock 
on, it poisoned him , he was strangled in his bands. He goes 
through life, tearing, like a man possessed with a devil. Like 
Abudali in the Arabian story, he is always looking out for the 
i’ury, and knows that the night will come, and the inevitable 
hag with it. What a night, my God, it was! what a lonely 
rage and long agony—what a vulture, that tore the heart of 
that giant! It is awful to think of the sufferings of this great 
man. Through life he always seems alone, somehow. Goethe 
was so. I cannot fancy Shakespeare otherwise. The giants 
must live apart. The kings can have no company. But this 
man suffered so ; and deserved so to suffer. One hardly reads 
anywhere of such a pain. The seeva indignatio of which he 
spoke as lacerating his heart, and which he dares inscribe on 
his tombstone—as if the wretch who lay under that stone, wait¬ 
ing God’s judgment, had a right to be angry—breaks out from 
him in a thousand pages of his writings, and tears and rends 
him. 


Frederick William Faber, 1814-1863. 

Of the distinguished scholars who left Oxford and 
the Establishment to return to the old faith of Eng¬ 
land, few are more celebrated than Father Faber. 
The sweetness of his disposition, the generosity of his 
character, the excellence of his poetical genius, and 
especially the skill with which he has dressed in popu¬ 
lar style the most abstruse doctrines of Christianity, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


367 


have justly endeared his name to the Catholics of Eu¬ 
rope and America. At Oxford, his prepossessing ap¬ 
pearance, his remarkable talent, and gifts of conversa¬ 
tion, made him a general favorite. In spite of severe 
and frequent headaches, in spite, too of a decided par¬ 
tiality for poetry, he there formed those habits of close 
application to study which were the foundation of his 
future learning. In 1835, he won the Newdigate 
poetry prize, the subject being The Knights .of St. 
John. A few years later, he published two volumes of 
minor poems, called from the heading piece in each, 
Clierwell Water-lily and the Styrian Lake. Of a higher 
order than these was Sir Lancelot , a romantic poem of 
great beauty, drawn from mediaeval sources. Father 
Faber was born a poet. Wordsworth, with whom he 
lived for a time on terms of. intimacy, declared that he 
had even a better eye for nature than himself; and, on 
another occasion, when Faber was rector of Elton, he 
added that, were it not for Frederick Faber’s devoting 
himself so much to his sacred calling, he would be the 
poet of his age. But Faber’s ambition aimed at some¬ 
thing higher than earthly fame. From a Calvinist he 
had become first a zealous advocate, then a minister, of 
advanced Anglicanism, and, after years of prayer and 
study in the pursuit of truth, following the example of 
his guide, Dr, Newman, he made, in 1845, his submis¬ 
sion to the Catholic Church, whose glory it is that she 
could equally satisfy the mighty intellect of the one 
and the sensitive heart of the other. Having been 
raised to the priesthood. Father Faber joined the Ora¬ 
tory of St. Philip Neri, lately introduced into England 
by Dr. Newman : and, when the London House was 
founded, in 1849, he was appointed to the office of su¬ 
perior, which he kept till his death. This is not the 
place to recount the apostolic labors of Father Faber 


368 


BlilTlSH LITEIiATUKE. 


during the last fourteen years of his life. Whilst he 
devoted body and soul to the welfare of his religious 
family at home, he burned with unquenchable zeal for 
the conversion of souls abroad. It was between the 
fatigues of the ministry and his frequent spells of sick¬ 
ness, that he wrote those pious works in which the 
mysteries, doctrines, and devotional practices of Chris¬ 
tianity, are presented in a style imaginative, eloquent, 
and full of unction. AU for Jesus, Groivth in Holiness, 
The Blessed Sacrament, The Creator and the Creature, 
The Foot of the Cross, Spiritual Conferences, The Pre¬ 
cious Blood , Bethlehem, appeared in succession. Many 
editions in England and America, and many transla¬ 
tions, attest the popularity of these works of Father 
Faber. He published also a Book of Hymns, many of 
which have found their way into almost every collec¬ 
tion, Catholic and Protestant, of sacred lyrics that 
has been printed since. They are 150 in number, 
and cover the whole range of Catholic piety. His 
verses, less labored and polished than Keble’s, quite 
make up in natural warmth what they lack in artistic 
finish ; and we find in them always that ease of ex¬ 
pression which we miss in the highly wrought poems 
of Keble. 

The last two years of Father Faber’s life were years 
of continual disease and suffering, but he retained to 
the last that serenity of soul and that fascination of 
manners, which in him were characteristic traits. 

A VIEW OF LONDON. 

(From The Creator and the Creature.) 

Let us sit down upon the top of this fair hill. The clear 
sunshine and the bright air flow into us in streams of life and 
gladness, while our thoughts are lifted up to God, and our 
hearts quietly expand to love. Beneath us is that beau- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


369 


tiful rolling plain, with its dark masses of summer foli¬ 
age sleeping in the sun for miles and miles away, in the 
varying shades of blue and green, according to the distance or 
the clouds. There at our feet is the gigantic city, gleaming 
with an ivory whiteness beneath its uplifted but perpetual 
canopy of smoke. The villa-spotted hills beyond it, its almost 
countless spires, its one huge many-steepled palace, and its 
solemn presiding dome, its old bleached tower, and its squares 
of crowded shipping—it all lies below us in the peculiar sun¬ 
shine of its own misty magnificence. There, in every variety 
of joy and misery, of elevation and depression, three million 
souls are working out their complicated destinies. Close 
around us, the air is filled with the songs of rejoicing birds, 
or the pleased hum of the insects that are drinking the sun¬ 
beams, and blowing their tiny trumpets as they weave and un¬ 
weave their mazy dance. The flowers breathe sweetly, and 
the leaves of the glossy shrubs are spotted with bright crea¬ 
tures in painted surcoat or gilded panoply, while the blue 
dome above seems both taller and bluer than common, and is 
ringing with the loud peals of the unseen larks, as the steeples 
of the city ring for the nation’s victory. Far off from the 
river-flat comes the booming of the cannon, and here, all un¬ 
startled, round and round the pond, a fleet of young perch are 
sailing in the sun, slowly and undisturbedly as if they had a 
very grave enjoyment of their little lives. What a mingled 
scene it is of God and man! and all so bright, so beautiful, so 
diversified, so calm, opening out such fountains of deep re¬ 
flection, and of simple-hearted gratitude to our H venly Fa¬ 
ther. 


COMMUNION. 

(From Sir Lancelot.) 

Who is yon kneeler, that like one entranced, 

Bends o’er the marble step, with both hands crossed 
Upon his bosom, raining holy tears 
From unuplifted eyes ? Oh! is it grief, 

Or the enlarged abundance of his heart, 

Thus weeping from him like a summer shower? 

And is it prayer which parts his quivering lips, 

Or viewless rapture, winged with more than words, 
Escaping from the worn ascetic’s frame, 

24 


370 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Like trembling odors by the solar beam 
Wrung with ecstatic pain from silent flowers? 

It is Sir Lancelot, the liermit-knight, 

The son received into his mother’s arms, 

The crown of penance, triumph of the cross, 

And victory of Christ’s almighty love! 

* # # 

What thoughts, or rather, in the silent room 
Of thought deposed, what blissful Presence filled 
Sir Lancelot, when the altar’s Burning Coal, 

As with the rapt Isaias, touched his lips, 

Not song of minstrel, but the hearts of saints 
With voiceless thrill must utter to themselves. 

Nicholas Patrick Wiseman, 1802-1865. 

N. P. Wiseman, Cardinal Archbishop of Westmins¬ 
ter, was born in Seville, Spain, in 1802. His fathers 
family were of English, and his mother’s, of Irish, 
origin. He was educated at St. Cuthbert’s College, 
Ushaw; where, for nearly eight years, he applied him¬ 
self closely to his studies, and laid the foundation of 
that profound and varied erudition, which gave him 
such distinction in after-life. In 1818, he went to 
Rome as a student of the English College, then hut 
recently established. Here, he soon attracted attention 
by the publication of his first book, Horce Syriacce, a 
treatise on Oriental languages—a study in which he 
was intensely interested. On account of his extraordi¬ 
nary abilities, he was not allowed to return to England 
at once ; but, after being ordained priest in his twenty- 
third year, he was created professor of the Roman Uni¬ 
versity. He filled in succession the offices of Viee-Rec- 
tor and Rector of the English College. In 1835, he de¬ 
livered his famous Lectures on the Connection between 
Science and Revealed Religion; and, the following 
year, his Lectures on the Principal Doctrines arid Prac - 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


371 


tices of the Catholic Church. The papal Bull of 1850 
having re-established the Roman Catholic hierarchy in 
England, Dr. Wiseman was appointed Archbishop of 
Westminster and created Cardinal. In England, a wild 
burst of excitement followed these acts ; but the cardi¬ 
nal lost no time in pouring oil on the troubled waters by 
publishing his Appeal to the Reason and Good Feeling 
of the English People on the subject of the Catholic Hier¬ 
archy. To argument he replied with argument; for 
taunts he gave back words of conciliation. Although 
the Ecclesiastical Titles Bill passed both Houses, and 
received the Royal assent, it remained a dead letter till 
it was annulled by Parliament. 

His long residence in Rome had familiarized Cardi¬ 
nal Wiseman with the most exquisite productions of 
painters, sculptors, and architects; and, in 1852, he 
lectured at Leeds to an immense audience, and proved 
that never had science flourished more, or originated 
more sublime or useful discoveries, than when it had 
been pursued under the influence of the Roman Cath¬ 
olic Religion. His lectures, delivered in Manchester 
and Liverpool, in 1853, On the Connection between the 
Arts of Design and the Arts of Production, and On the 
Highways of Peaceful Commerce as being the Highways 
of Art, show great learning and a wonderful versatility 
of mind. In another department of literature, he 
wrote Fabiola, or the Church of the Catacombs, a master¬ 
piece of narrative for interest, information, and edifi¬ 
cation. “It is a most charming book, a truly popular 
work, and alike pleasing to the scholar and the general 
reader. It is the first work of the kind that we have 
read in any language, in which truly pious and devout 
sentiment, and the loftiest and richest imagination, are 
so blended, so fused together, that the one never jars 


372 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


on the other.” * And yet this admirable tale was com¬ 
posed 4 bit by bit, at all sorts of times and in all sorts 
of places.’ 

Three volumes of his contributions to the Dublin Re¬ 
view, were published under the title of Essays on Va¬ 
rious Subjects. 44 They constitute one of the richest 
contributions that have recently been made to our Eng¬ 
lish Catholic literature. They bear to us the marks of 
a varied and extensive erudition, which we seldom look 
for out of Italy or Germany; are written in a style of 
singular freshness, vivacity and force, ease and dignity, 
which may well be studied as a model.” 

Cardinal Wiseman wrote many other works, among 
which we may mention his Recollections of the Last 
Four Popes, and of Rome tn their Times (1858), a pict¬ 
uresque and popular book; his Sermons, Lectures, and 
Speeches, delivered during a tour in Ireland (1859); 
Rome and the Catholic Episcopate. He also found time 
to write for St. Cuthbert’s College, the Hidden Gem, a 
drama in two acts. He was preparing a lecture for the 
tercentenary of Shakespeare to be delivered before the 
Royal Society, when he was seized with his last illness, 
in 1865. 

Cardinal Wiseman wrote in a clear and polished 
style, sometimes too much in the florid Italian manner; 
but, often too, with a calm eloquence peculiarly suited 
to the English temperament. He was a profound lin¬ 
guist, having a perfect acquaintance with all the 
European and most of the Oriental languages. He 
was a man of great achievements and still greater aims. 
To his levees in York Place men of all creeds and 
nationalities came, and for all he had a kindly greet¬ 
ing and cordial conversation. No other man prob- 


* Dr. Brownson. 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


373 


ably was ever more earnest in devotion to his religion; 
no other would have been prepared to make greater 
sacrifices in its behalf. In his last illness, calling 
around him the Canons of his Chapter, he made a 
profession of faith and resigned himself to death. 
His name will remain indissolubly connected with the 
re-establishment of Catholicity in England. 

MARTYRDOM OF ST. PANCRATIUS. 

Sucli was the attitude and sucli was the privilege of our he¬ 
roic youth. The mob was frantic, as they saw one wild beast 
after another careering madly round him, roaring, and lashing 
its sides with its tail, while he seemed placed in a charmed 
circle, which they could not approach. A furious bull, let 
loose upon him, dashed madly forward, with his neck bent 
down, then stopped suddenly, as though he had struck his 
head against a wall, pawed the ground, and scattered the dust 
around him, bellowing fiercely. 

“Provoke him, thou coward!” roared out, still louder, the 
enraged emperor. 

Pancratius awoke as from a trance, and, waving his arms, 
ran towards his enemy; but the savage brute, as if a lion had 
been rushing on him, turned round, and ran away towards the 
entrance, where meeting his keeper, he tossed him high into 
the air. All were disconcerted, except the brave youth, who 
had resumed his attitude of prayer, when one of the crowd 
shouted out: “He has a charm round his neck; he is a sor¬ 
cerer!” The whole multitude re-echoed the cry, till the em¬ 
peror, having commanded silence, called out to him, “ Take 
that amulet from thy neck, and cast it from thee, or it shall be 
done more roughly for thee.” 

“ Sire,” replied the youth, with a musical voice, that rang 
sweetly through the hushed amphitheatre, “it is no charm 
that I wear, but a memorial of my father, who, in this very 
place, made gloriously the same confession which I now 
humbly make; I am a Christian; and for love of Jesus Christ, 
God and man, I gladly give my life. Do not take from me this 
only legacy, which I have bequeathed, richer than I received 
it, to another. Try once more; it was a panther that gave him 
his crown; perhaps it will bestow the same on me.” 


374 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


For an instant there was a dead silence; the multitude 
seemed softened, won.. The graceful form of the gallant 
youth, his now inspired countenance, the thrilling music of his 
voice, the intrepidity of his speech, and his generous self- 
devotion to his cause, had wrought upon that cowardly herd. 
Pancratius felt it, and his heart quailed before their mercy, 
more than before their rage; he had promised himself heaven 
that day; was he to be disappointed ? Tears started into his 
eyes, as, stretching forth his arms once more in the form of a 
cross, he called aloud, in a tone that again vibrated through 
every heart: “To-day; oh, yes, to-day, most blessed Lord, is 
the appointed day of Thy coming. Tarry not longer; enough 
has Thy power been shown in me to them that believe not in 
Thee; show now Thy mercy to me who in Thee believe! ” 

“The panther!” shouted out a voice. “The panther!” 
responded twenty. “The panther!” thundered forth a hun¬ 
dred thousand, in a chorus like the roaring of an avalanche. 
A cage started up, as if by magic, from the midst of the sand, 
and as it rose, its side fell down, and freed the captive of the 
desert. With one graceful bound, the elegant savage gained its 
liberty; and, though enraged by darkness, confinement, and 
hunger, it seemed almost playful, as it leaped and turned 
about, frisked and gambolled noiselessly on the sand. 

At last it caught sight of its prey. All its feline cunning 
and cruelty seemed to return, and to conspire together in ani¬ 
mating the cautious and treacherous movements of its velvet- 
clothed frame. The whole amphitheatre was as silent as if it 
had been a hermit’s dell, while every eye was intent, watching 
the stealthy approaches of the sleek brute to its victim. Pan¬ 
cratius was still standing in the same place, facing the empe¬ 
ror, apparently so absorbed in higher thoughts, as not to heed 
the movements of his enemy. The panther had stolen round 
him, as if disdaining to attack him except in front. Crouch¬ 
ing upon its breast, slowly advancing one paw before another, 
it had gained its measured distance, and there it lay for some 
moments of breathless suspense. A deep snarling growl, an 
elastic spring through the air, and it was seen gathered up 
like a leech, with its hind feet on the chest, and its fangs and 
fore claws on the throat of the martyr. 

He stood erect for a moment, brought his right hand to his 
mouth, and looking up at Sebastian with a smile, directed to 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


375 


him, by a graceful wave of his arm, the last salutation of his 
lips—and fell. The arteries of the neck had been severed, and 
the slumber of martyrdom at once settled on his eyelids. 


Charles Dickens, 1812-1870. 

Charles Dickens, whom Forster calls ‘ the most pop¬ 
ular novelist of the century, and one of the greatest 
humorists that England has produced/ was born at 
Landport, Portsmouth, in 1812. 

The early life of Dickens was one of extreme pov¬ 
erty. His father, for a time, was confined in the 
Debtors’ Prison, and he himself was obliged to become 
a poor little drudge, and eke out a scanty living in a 
blacking warehouse by covering and labelling the pots 
of paste-blacking, at six shillings a week. After going 
to school for two or three years, he became a Parlia¬ 
mentary reporter for some of the leading journals in 
the great capital. It was during these years of news¬ 
paper life, that the half-educated young Dickens laid 
the foundations of his after-career as an author. As a 
reporter, he disciplined his habits of industry, enlarged 
the circle of his knowledge, and attained very early to 
his mental maturity. “ To the wholesome training of 
severe newspaper work when I was a very young man,” 
he said in his speech to the New York editors in 1868, 
“ I constantly refer my first successes.” 

His first attempt at authorship was made in the Old 
Monthly Magazine for 1834. In these contributions he 
first used the signature Boz, a nickname he had given 
to his youngest brother Augustus, which was a corrup¬ 
tion of Moses (when spoken through the nose) in the 
Vicar of Wakefield. He continued his Sketches in an¬ 
other paper, The. Evening Chronicle, during 1835. In 
t.he following year, the Sketches , illustrated by Cruik- 


376 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


shank, were brought out in two volumes, and their 
author at once became famous. Though inferior to 
some of his later productions, this book presents in¬ 
tensely vivid pictures of London middle and low life. 
The realistic tendency is unhappily kept up in all his 
stories. The Sketches are sprightly with fun and dis¬ 
cernment of character, and the general handling is 
easy and skilful. The Pickwick Papers followed, and 
before that was half finished, Oliver Twist was already 
begun,—the numbers of each coming out simultane¬ 
ously. The success of Pickwick was unexampled in 
English literature. It appeared in numbers, and after 
the first two or three, it was in the hands of everybody 
in London, from the peer to the cabman. Pickwick 
Chintzes were displayed in linen-drapers’ windows, 
and Weller corduroys at the shops of the tailors. Of 
the first number four hundred were printed; of the 
fifteenth, more than forty thousand. Oliver Twist 
maintained the prestige of Pickivick ; but, in the Life 
of Grimaldi , the famous clown, there was a falling off. 
It was less in Dickens’s line, and the critics handled it 
severely. Nicholas Nicklehy was also published in se¬ 
rial form, the first paper selling, on the first of its ap¬ 
pearance, to the astonishing number of nearly 50,000 
copies. Barnaby Pudge and The Old Curiosity Shop 
came next, delighting everybody. Lord Jeffrey extrav¬ 
agantly admired Little Nell, in the latter story. 

Dickens visited the United States in 1842, and re¬ 
ceived a cordial welcome. He had put his heart on an 
international copyright law ; for all Americans read 
him, and he held it was but right that those who 
reaped the fruits of his labor and triumphs, should be 
compelled to give him at least a small portion of their 
easily earned gains. But Congress • refused to pass 
such a law, and the friendly disposition with which 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


377 


Dickens came were thus embittered against the Ameri¬ 
cans, and found vent in his next two works, American 
Notes and Martin Chuzzleivit. He visited Italy in 1844, 
spending a year there. On his return to London he 
founded the Daily News , and published in it his so- 
called Pictures of Italy. Both the style and the 
matter were below Dickens’s standard. His other 
principal works are Dombey and Son , David Copperfield, 
his finest production, Blealc House, The Child’s His¬ 
tory of England, Christmas Tales, Little Dorrit, Hard 
Times, A Tale of Tivo Cities, Great Expectations, and 
Our Mutual Friend. He had begun a new story. The 
Mystery of Edivin Drood, when cut off almost instantly 
by death. The merits of Dickens’s novels are well 
known and appreciated. But we may ask ourselves: Is 
their influence on society of such a character as to de¬ 
serve unlimited praise ? On this important question 
we shall quote the opinions of two celebrated Reviews. 
“Mr. Dickens,” said the North British Review, 
“ makes his low characters almost always vulgar. . . . 
In the next place, the good characters of his novels do 
not seem to have a wholesome moral tendency. The 
reason is, that many of them—all the author’s favorites 
—exhibit an excellence flowing from constitution and 
temperament, and not from the influence of moral or 
religious motive. They act from impulse, not from 
principle.” 

Starting from the fact that Dickens appeared before 
the public as a preacher whose f mission ’ it was to cor¬ 
rect the vices of society, and inculcate sound principles, 
the Dublin Review was led to the following remarks : 
“He was certainly a moral writer, and he did laud the 
household virtues; but there is a higher aspect of moral¬ 
ity, one in which Catholic readers are bound to regard 
every book which professes to deal with the condition 


378 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


of man; and, so regarded, Mr. Dickens's works are as 
false as any of those of the nndisguisedly materialistic 
writers of the day. He cried ‘ Peace, peace, where 
there is no peace ; 9 he vaunted the quack nostrums of 
good fellowship and sentimental tenderness, of human 
institutions, and the natural virtues, as remedies for 
sin, sorrow, and the weariness of life. . . . Can any 
writer, however amiable, moral, wise, or witty, be quite 
harmless, who departs so utterly from the truth—who 
leads the mind of his readers so far from the ‘ fountain 
opened for sin and uncleanness,’ and from every source 
of supernatural enlightenment?" 

CHARACTER OF A YORKSHIRE SCHOOLMASTER. 

(From Nicholas Nickleby.) 

Mr. Squeers’s appearance was not prepossessing. He had 
but one eye, and the popular prejudice runs in favor of two. 
The eye he had was unquestionably useful, but decidedly not 
ornamental: being of a greenisli-gray, and in shape resemb¬ 
ling the fan-light of a street door. The blank side of his 
face was much wrinkled and puckered up, which gave him a 
very sinister appearance, especially when he smiled, at which 
time his expression bordered closely on the villanous. His 
hair was very flat and shiny, save at the ends, where it was 
brushed stiffly up from the forehead, which assorted well with 
his harsh voice and coarse manner. He was about two or 
three and fifty, and a trifle below the middle size; he wore a 
white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit of scholastic 
black; but his coat sleeves being a great deal too long, and his 
trousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease in his 
clothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment 
at finding himself so respectable. 

Mr. Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room 
fire-places, fitted with one such table as is usually seen in 
coffee-rooms, and two of extraordinary shapes and dimensions 
made to suit the angles of the partition. In a corner of the 
seat was a very small deal trunk, tied round with a scanty 
piece of cord; and on the trunk was perched—his lace-up 
half-boots and corduroy trousers dangling in the air—a dimin- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


370 


utive boy, with shoulders drawn up to his ears, and his hands 
planted on his knees, who glanced timidly at the schoolmaster, 
from time to time, with evident dread and apprehension. 

“ Half-past three,” muttered Mr. Squeers, turning from the 
window, and looking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. 
“ There will be nobody here to-day.” 

Much vexed by this reflection, Mr. Squeers looked at the lit¬ 
tle boy to see whether he was doing anything he could beat 
him for. As he happened not to be doing anything at all, he 
merely boxed his ears, and told him not to do it again. 

“At Midsummer,” muttered Mr. Squeers, resuming his com¬ 
plaint, “ I took down ten boys; ten twenties is two hundred 
pound. I go back at eight o’clock to-morrow morning, and 
have got only three—three oughts is an ought—three twos is 
six—sixty pound. What’s come of all the boys ? wliat’s par¬ 
ents got in their heads ? what does it all mean ? ” 

Here the little boy on the top of the trunk gave a violent 
sneeze. 

“Halloa, sir!” growled the schoolmaster, turning round. 
“ What’s that, sir ? ” 

“Nothing, please sir,” said the little boy. 

“Nothing, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Squeers. 

“ Please sir, I sneezed,” rejoined the boy, trembling till the 
little trunk shook under him. 

“Oh! sneezed, did you?” retorted Mr. Squeers. “Then 
what did you say ‘ nothing ’ for, sir ? ” 

In default of a better answer to this question, the little boy 
screwed a couple of knuckles into each of his eyes and began 
to cry, wherefore Mr. Squeers knocked him off the trunk with 
a blow on one side of his face, and knocked him on again with 
a blow on the other. 

“ Wait till I get you down into Yorkshire, my young gentle¬ 
man,” said Mr. Squeers, “ and then I’ll give you the rest.” 

I)R. CIIILLIP. 

Dr. Cliillip was the meekest of his sex, the mildest of little 
men. He sidled in and out of a room, to take up the less 
space. He walked as softly as the ghost in Hamlet, and more 
slowly. He carried his head on one side, partly in modest 
depreciation of himself, partly in modest propitiation of every¬ 
body else. It is nothing to say that he hadn't a word to throw 


380 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


at a dog. He couldn’t have thrown a word at a mad dog. He 
might have offered him one gently, or half a one, or a frag¬ 
ment of one: for he spoke as slowly as he walked; but he 
wouldn’t have been rude to him, and he couldn’t have been 
quick with him, for any earthly consideration. 


Bulwer-Lytton, 1805-1873. 

Sir Edward Bubver-Lytton is one of the most prolific 
and popular writers of this century. His versatile tal¬ 
ent shows itself in the novel, the drama, the essay, 
the pamphlet, and the verse ; but his fame, we think, 
is chiefly to rest upon five or six novels, and two of his 
dramas. He began authorship at fifteen with a met¬ 
rical tale of the East, Lshmael, and at twenty, he won 
the Cambridge Chancellor’s prize by his poem on 
Sculpture. More than once in after life, he again 
turned to poetry, but attained no eminence in this field 
of literature. His chief poetical works are : The Sia¬ 
mese Twins and The New Timon , satires; Arthur , an 
extensive romance, and Milton , generally considered 
his best. 

Of his novels, the earliest have been deservedly cen¬ 
sured as immoral or deficient in genuine art. But the 
Last Days of Pompeii, Rienzi, Harold, and The Last of 
the Barons, are historical novels, displaying no mean 
erudition and merit, though in Pompeii the novelist 
did not absolutely overcome the peculiar difficulties in¬ 
herent to a subject of antiquity. The Caxtons, My 
Novel, What will he Do ivith it, portray the domestic 
life of the upper classes in England, and, by common 
consent, constitute the finest laurels in the author’s 
crown. Yet to all his novels we have the strong moral 
objection that they are a deification of worldly success, 
as if that were the paramount object of life. 

As a dramatist, Bulwer was very successful in The 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


381 


Lady of Lyons and Cardinal Richelieu. Both are well 
adapted to stage effect, but the former is far from pos¬ 
sessing the depth and richness of thought which the 
latter displays. 

His Caxtoniana is a collection of essays, interesting 
and curious. His Translations of Schiller's poems and 
ballads deserve commendation for spirit and elegance. 

In 1856, Bulwer was elected Lord Rector of the Uni¬ 
versity of Glasgow, and took occasion of his inaugural 
address to vindicate the study of the classics. In pol¬ 
itics, he attracted attention by two pamphlets. The 
Crisis, written in 1835, in behalf of the Whig party, 
and A Letter to John Bull, in which he defends pro¬ 
tection. He sat for many years in Parliament, where 
he acquired a fair reputation by his brilliant and effi¬ 
cient speeches. Raised to the peerage in 1866, as 
Baron Lytton, Bulwer survived both Thackeray and 
Dickens, with whom he has shared so much of the pub¬ 
lic attention. More brilliant, but less humorous, he 
was certainly more unequal than either of his rivals, 
and worse in point of morality and taste. 

READING OF OLD BOOKS. 

In science, read, by preference, the newest works; in litera¬ 
ture, the oldest. The classic literature is always modern. 
New books revive and redecorate old ideas; old books suggest- 
and invigorate new ideas. It is a great preservative to a high 
standard in taste and achievement to take every year some one 
great book as an especial study, not only to be read, but to be 
conned, studied, brooded over; to go into the country with it, 
travel with it, be devotedly faithful to it, be without any 
other book for the time; compel yourself thus to read it again 
and again. Who can be dull enough to pass long days in the 
intimate, close, familiar intercourse with some transcendent 
mind, and not feel the benefit of it when he returns to the com¬ 
mon world? 


382 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


T. W. M. Marshall, 1815-1877. 

Dr. Thomas William M. Marshall deserves an emi¬ 
nent place among English writers of wit and humor, 
although with him these gifts were but the means of 
expressing more forcibly his deep religious convictions. 
Endowed with a keen sense of the ridiculous, he had, 
during his early life, the best opportunity of witness¬ 
ing the shams and oddities which afterwards became 
the ordinary target of his satire. 

Dr. Marshall was born in London, educated at the 
Charter House, and Trinity College, Cambridge, and 
ordained a minister of the Anglican Church, in 1842. 
Two years after, he published his first work, Notes on 
Episcopacy, which led to his conversion and that of 
others. It cost him the labor of seven years, during 
which, according to his own statement, he * read the 
whole of the Fathers of the first five centuries, and the 
Ecclesiastical historians/ These researches and his 
own reflections having convinced him of 4 the utter 
humanism and senseless contradictions of the Anglican 
religion/ he left it in 1845, and was received into the 
Church by Cardinal Wiseman. “ To give up at thirty 
years of age, just married, with no private fortune, 
-the profession of clergyman in the Church of England 
to become a Catholic layman, was an act not only of 
remarkable honesty, but of superhuman courage.” 
For Dr. Marshall human considerations had indeed no 
weight. He accepted all the consequences of his step. 
After three years of necessary inaction and consequent 
indigence, he was appointed to the office of Her Maj¬ 
esty's Inspector of Catholic Schools, which he held 
for twelve years. The loss of this position threw him 
back for subsistence on the efforts of his pen, and 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


383 


though he could expect but little pecuniary remunera¬ 
tion from the treatment of Catholic subjects, he would 
not write on any other. He published, in 1861, his 
Christian Missions , in which, travelling around the 
whole world, he gives a sketch of every mission, its 
agents, and results. Amidst the continual citation of 
authorities, and the wonderful amount of information 
accumulated in two large volumes, he pleases and di¬ 
verts his reader by the airiness of his style and the pun¬ 
gency of his remarks. Pope Pius IX. decorated the 
author with the cross of St Gregory, and wrote to 
him a kind letter in which he said : “ You have de¬ 
served well of all Catholics, especially in England.” 

Dr. Marshall was for three years editor of the Lon¬ 
don Tablet, and contributed not a little to impart to it 
the renown and influence which it has since enjoyed. 
Compelled to retire from that post, which involved 
more labor than he had strength to bear, he remained 
to the last a constant contributor to its columns. Its 
readers still remember the graceful, sharp, and exhaus¬ 
tive, series of Our Protestant Contemporaries, Sketches 
of the Reformation , Religious Contrasts , The Protest¬ 
ant Tradition, Russia and Turkey. Protestant Jour¬ 
nalism is also a reprint in book form from his arti¬ 
cles in the same weekly. For a long time, he also con¬ 
tributed every quarter to the Dublin Review. 

The work of Dr. Marshall which perhaps shows best 
Ihe peculiar power of his mind, is The Comedy of Con¬ 
vocation, in Two Scenes, which appeared in the begin¬ 
ning of 1868. It represents, under fictitious names, 
the dignitaries of the Anglican Church, in convocation 
assembled, agreeing among themselves about nothing, 
except the principle that the Church of England is 
essentially fallible. The Comedy produced the great¬ 
est sensation in the literary and the religioifs world. 


384 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


It was pronounced the best satire written since the 
time of Swift. If it has the power, it has not the coarse¬ 
ness, the vulgarity, the mendacity, that pervade the 
writings of the Dean of St. Patrick’s There is no per¬ 
sonal offence, no invective, no unkindness ; but a 
wealth of wit and humor, a fidelity to character, man¬ 
ner, and situation, strikingly sustained. As the au¬ 
thorship of 1 he Comedy has been sometimes denied to 
Dr. Marshall, we may be permitted to quote his own 
testimony in the case : “I wrote every word of it, 
from the title and motto to the last sentence.”* 

In 1869, Dr. Marshall came to the United States, 
and during the two following winters gave lectures on 
religious subjects in many of our large cities. It was 
at that time that the University of Georgetown con¬ 
ferred on liifn the honorary degree of LL.D. 

On his return to England, he published My Clerical 
Friends, the object of which is to show the striking 
contrast between the Anglican and the Catholic Clergy, 
and the hollowness of the Anglican claims to the Chris¬ 
tian priesthood. The Church Defence is also directed 
against the Anglicans. He began to write another 
comedy, which he called The Comedy of Ritualism, 
but did not live to finish. 

In all his literary productions. Dr. Marshall unites 
solidity of thought with a classic purity of style. His 
sentences, short, polished, and pithy, never tire the 
reader. He has, besides, a peculiar talent of f weaving 
scores of quotations into a few pages of easy writing, 
without ever for a moment becoming dull.’ The only 
fault that may be laid to his charge, is the pungency 
which his honest indignation at times cannot repress 
when he speaks of Protestantism. 

After a painful disease of many months, borne with 


* From a Letter to the Editor of this book. 




THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


385 


Christian resignation, Dr. Marshall died in 1877 in an 
obscure outskirt of London, remaining _ to the last a 
brave defender of the Church, and a true knight of 
the cross. 


A REPRESENTATIVE BISHOP. 

(From My Clerical Friends.) 

My father was a dignitary of the Church, and not unfre- 
quently had bishops for his guests. Among these was one of 
whom my personal reminiscences are not cheerful. I am sure 
he had great merits—or how could he have become a bishop? 
—and that it was my own fault if I did not discover them; hut 
the day of his departure from my father’s house was always 
to me a festal one. His dignity, without being real, was op¬ 
pressive. When he spoke, his whole being appeared to be 
absorbed in listening to himself, though T never heard him say 
anything that was worth remembering. I failed to make out, 
the critical faculty of my mind being at that time feebly 
developed, what were his religious ideas; and I sometimes 
doubted, perhaps in order to excuse my own want of penetra¬ 
tion, whether lie knew himself. I found it so impossible to 
understand, in spite of persevering efforts, on what platform he 
stood, that my mind, as far as religion was concerned, verged 
towards idiocy. I think if I had lived three months with him 
—a trial to which I was never exposed—I should have believed 
all human things to be mere phantasms, and should have 
doubted whether anything was what it seemed to be. If any 
one had rashly spoken in his presence of a vocation to the min ¬ 
istry, he would have considered him the melancholy victim of 
a spiritual hallucination. If any one had presumed to inquire 
whether he possessed one himself, lie would have resented the 
liberty with just indignation. His conversation alternated be¬ 
tween stilted and sonorous piety, or the nearest approach 
which he could make to it, and genuine unadulterated world¬ 
liness. He would have reminded me of Windham’s descrip¬ 
tion of Bishop Horsley, if at that period of my life I had been 
acquainted with it. “ His studies,” the statesman observes, 
“ are remote from the subjects .on which I wish to hear him, 
and his thought still more remote, being intent wholly upon 
prospects of Church preferment.” 

But my father’s guest had a way of repairing any un¬ 
guarded outbreak of purely human sentiment by a Serene dep- 
25 


386 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


recation of the infirmities of other men, which sometimes 
nearly stupefied me, and gave me my earliest lesson in the art 
of disguising thoughts by speech. I was tempted to believe, 
against all evidence, that he was only a stuffed figure ; yet he 
exerted a fascination over my youthful mind which I found it 
impossible to resist. I often detected myself, not without 
self-reproach, gazing intently upon his face, which really had 
no expression whatever, except that of general approval of the 
world, in which he seemed to feel that he occupied a place not 
wholly unequal to his merits. He ate a good deal, but in a 
solemn way, and as if he was doing a favor to somebody by 
eating at all. I have a distinct remembrance of a certain 
breakfast, during which the usual spell was strong upon me ; 
and I could no more have taken my eyes off him than I could 
have read a newspaper within view of Niagara Falls. He had 
a cutlet on his plate, and seemed, to my disordered imagina¬ 
tion, to be mentally addressing the ewe of which it once 
formed a part. “If you had known,” I fancied he was say¬ 
ing, “ the fate reserved for your remains, you would have gouo 
apart from the common herd, and fed in solitary pastures.” 
I am sure he was quite capable of such a thought. I never 
saw him in bed, but am persuaded that, even in that difficult 
position, his attitude was full of dignity. He is dead now ; 
and I hope he is as well satisfied with the other world as he 
was with this. 


George Eliot, 1820-1880. 

“George Eliot” is the pseudonym under which appeared 
the writing? of Miss Marian Evans, the daughter of Robert 
Evans, a land-agent in Warwickshire. A good literary- 
training in various schools, especially at Coventry, stim¬ 
ulated the passion for knowledge which she evinced at an 
early age. She would read any book that came to hand, 
reserving ample time for an earnest study of French, Ger¬ 
man, Italian, and music. Later on, she became deeply ac¬ 
quainted with Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. Unfortunately, 
her lady teachers at Coventry were already destroying in 
her soul the principles of Christianity, and sowing instead 
the germs of infidelity, which grew steadily. The first 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


387 


work that came from her pen was a translation of Strauss’s 
Life of Christ (1846). She contributed articles to various 
magazines, and for three years (1851-54) was the editor 
of .the “ Westminster Review.” This last year, she began 
to live with George Henry Lewes, one of the doctors of 
positivism, and with him she remained, although they were 
not married, till his death in 1878. Like him, she was an 
adept in the theory and practice of that humanitarian 
philosophy and religion. In 1857 she published in “Black¬ 
wood’s Magazine,” under the title of Scenes of Clerical Life, 
a series of short tales. Two years later, her first novel, 
Adam Bede, took the English-reading world by storm. 
She at once rose to the first rank among philosophical 
novelists by the originality, the power, and the high finish 
of her work. Her supreme excellence in this as in her 
subsequent novels is her minute analysis of character, her 
account of the motives that influenced or impelled the 
actors of her stories. Her grasp is that of a man—of a 
strong man. Adam Bede was followed by the The Mill on 
the Floss (1859), Silas Marner (1861), Romola (1863), Felix 
Holt the Radical (1866), Middlemarch, a Study of Provincial 
Life (1871), and DanielDeronda (1873). All these novels 
confirmed the reputation of George Eliot as a great writer. 
They all paint English manners, except Romola, which is 
an Italian story belonging to the last years of the fifteenth 
century. In a moral point of view some distinctions are 
to be made: her first works are the best. Adam Bede is a 
Christian novel imbued with a deep sense of Christianity. 
The Mill on the Floss and Silas Marner tread not. yet on 
forbidden ground, preaching up the natural virtues; but 
Romola, Middlemarch, and Daniel Deronda are dangerous, 
because they reflect the principles of positivism. A vein 
of sadness, too, underlies most of her writings, not on ac¬ 
count of any personal sorrow, but from the perception of 
the ills that affect mankind. She could endure her own lot 


388 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


‘ with unembittered resignation ,’ but the generality of man¬ 
kind could not! Her code of morality, from which God is 
excluded, and with Him the hope of another life, is a feeble 
help indeed to the weakness of mankind. “Humanity,” 
says Bishop Ullathorne, “ is the divinity of positivism.” 
The Impressions of Theophrastus Such (1879) is a series 
of seventeen essays on characters, manners, and disposi¬ 
tions. Her poems, The Spanish Gypsy , a drama, The Legend 
of Jubal, and others, never attained the merit or the suc¬ 
cess of her novels. After the death of Mr. Lewes, in 1878, 
Miss Evans married John Walter Cross, a friend of many 
years; but she died in December, 1880, a few months after 
her marriage. In 1885 appeared George Eliot's Life as Be¬ 
lated in her Letters and Journals , arranged and edited by 
her husband, J. W. Cross. “ The hand of affection has 
.pruned and cut away from the published letters every line 
for which the George Eliot as we know her now would have 
been likely to blush.” * 

A TILT BETWEEN THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER AND MRS. BOYSER. 

(From Aclam Bede, chap, liii.) 

“ Wliat!” said Bartle Massey, with an air of disgust “Was there 
a woman concerned ? Then I give you up, Adam.” 

“ But it’s a woman you’n spoke well on, Bartle,” said Mr. Poyser. 
“ Come, now, you canna draw back ; you said once as woman wouldna 
ha’ been a bad invention if they’d all been like Dinah.” 

“I meant her voice, man—I meant her voice, that was all,” said 
Bartle. “1 can bear to hear her speak without wanting to put wool 
in my ears. As for other tilings, I dare say she’s like the rest o’ - the 
women—thinks two and two’ll come to make five, if she cries and 
bothers enough about it.” 

“Ay, ay!” said Mrs. Poyser, “one ’ud think, an’ hear some folks 
talk, as the men war ’cute enough to count the corns in a bag o’ 
wheat wi’ only smelling at it. They can see through a barn door, 
they can. Perhaps that’s the reason they can see so little o’ ’this 
side on’t.” 


* London Tablet, Feb. 11, 1885. 




TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


389 


Martin Poyser shook with delighted laughter, and winked at 
Adam, as much as to say the schoolmaster was in for it now. 

‘‘Ah!” said Bartle, sneeringlv, “the women are quick enough— 
they are quick enough. They know the rights of a story before 
they hear it, and can tell a man what his thoughts are before he 
knows ’em himself.” 

“Like enough,” said Mrs. Poyser; “for the men are mostly so 
slow, their thoughts overrun ’em, an’ they can only catch ’em by 
the tail. I can count a stocking-top while a man’s getting’s tongue 
ready, an’ when he outs wi’ his speech at last, there’s little broth to 
be made on’t. It’s your dead chicks take the longest hatcliin’. How¬ 
ever, I’m not denyin’ the women are foolish: God Almighty made 
’em to match the men.” 

“Match,” said Bartle, “ay, as vinegar matches one’s teeth. If a 
man says a word, his wife ’ll match it with a contradiction ; if he’s 
a mind for hot meat, his wife ’ll match it with cold bacon ; if he 
laughs, she’ll match him with whimpering. She’s such a match as 
th’ horse-fly is to the horse: she’s got the right venom to sting him 
with—the right venom to sting him with.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Poyser, “ I know what the men like—a poor 
soft, as ’ud simper at ’em like the pietur o’ the sun, whether they 
did right or wrong, an’ say ‘Thank you ’ for a kick, an’ pretend she 
didna know which end she stood uppermost, till her husband told 
her. That’s what a man wants in a wife, mostly ; he wants to make 
sure o’ one fool as ’ll tell him he’s wise. But there’s some men can 
do wi’out that—they think so much o’ themselves a’ready ; an’ that’s 
how it is there’s old bachelors.” 

“Come, Craig,” said Mr. Poyser, jocosely, “you nnin get married 
pretty quick, else you’ll be set down for an old bachelor; an’ you 
see what the women ’ll think on you.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Craig, willing to conciliate Mrs. Poyser, and 
setting a high value on his own compliments, “7 like a cleverisli 
woman—a woman o’ sperrit—a managing woman.” 

“ You’re out there, Craig,” said Bartle, dryly ; “ you’re out there. 
You judge o’ your garden-stuff on a better plan than that: you pick 
the things for what they can excel in—for what they can excel in. 
You don’t value your peas for their roots, or your carrots for their 
flowers. Now, that’s the way you should choose -women ; their 
cleverness ’ll never come to much—never come to much ; but they 
make excellent simpletons, ripe, and strong-flavored.” 


390 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


“ What dost say to that?” said Mr. Poyser, throwing himself back 
and looking merrily at his wife. 

“ Say !” answered Mrs. Poyser, with dangerous fire kindling in her 
eye; “ why, I say as some folks’ tongues are like the clocks as run 
on strikin’, not to tell you the time of the day, but because there’s 
sum mat wrong i’ their own inside.” Mrs. Poyser would probably 
have brought her rejoinder to a farther climax, if every one’s atten¬ 
tion had not at this moment been called to the other end of the 
table. 


Thomas Carlyle, 1795-1881.. 

Thomas Carlyle, ‘the Censor of his age/ and gener¬ 
ally thought to be one of the most profound and inde¬ 
pendent thinkers of his time, was born at Dumfries¬ 
shire, Scotland. His parents lived in humble circum¬ 
stances, but were deeply religious Presbyterians. 
After preliminary instruction at Annan, he was sent, 
in 1809, to the University of Edinburgh, where he re¬ 
mained for eight years, distinguishing himself by de- 
votion to mathematical studies. For about two years 
he taught mathematics at a school; and, on relinquish¬ 
ing this post, he devoted himself to literature as a pro¬ 
fession. 

He contributed to the Edinburgh Cyclopaedia the 
articles Montesquieu, Montaigne, Nelson, and the two 
Pitts; translated Goethe’s AVilhelm Meister, a work 
which betrayed a direction of reading destined to in¬ 
fluence materially his future career ; wrote the Life 
of Schiller, and his Essays, critical and miscellaneous. 
All these compositions exhibit a style picturesque, 
pure, and graceful; the Essays, in particular, possess 
the highest literary merit. In 1834, he published Sar¬ 
tor Resartus (The Patclier Kepatclied), the scope of 
which is that all creeds and institutions are but the 
garments worn by mankind, and now sadly threadbare. 
Mr. Carlyle is a pessimist of the darkest dye, contend- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


391 


ing that there is nothing good left in the world. In 
his thoughts and expressions, he is sometimes simply 
grotesque, sometimes incisive, vehement, eloquent. 
In 1837, appeared The French Revolution, his ablest 
work, and one which produced a profound impression 
on the public mind. In his Life of John Sterling we 
find the same purity of style which marks the Life of 
Schiller. The History of Frederick II., called Fred¬ 
erick the Great, is minute, elaborate, and fully displays 
the author’s peculiarities,—strong prejudices in every 
department of thought, provoking arrogance, strange¬ 
ness of diction, with pictures full of humor, pathos, 
and eloquence. His other productions are: Char¬ 
tism ; Heroes and Hero- Worship ; Past and Present; 
Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromivell, with Elucida¬ 
tions ; Latter-Day Pamphlets ; and Shooting Niagara. 
Among the favorite heroes of Mr. Carlyle are Mahomet, 
Luther, and Cromwell. Mahomet was with him, not 
‘the truest of prophets, but a true one ; 9 whose creed 
was a better kind of Christianity than that of the 
Fathers of Nicaea, ‘ with heads full of worthless noise, 
and hearts empty and dead/ He would have us be¬ 
lieve that Luther was ‘humble, peaceable, and toler¬ 
ant ! 9 Cromwell, in his opinion, was a sincere and pi¬ 
ous man. Two elements are essential to constitute the 
character of Mr. Carlyle’s heroes, revolt against author¬ 
ity and success in rebellion. He spoke eloquently of 
the mediaeval Church, which reached nearest his ideal 
of a church, but she has been a failure ever since. He 
had no sympathy for atheism or pantheism, but, on the 
other hand, he rejected all divine revelation, and conse¬ 
quently denied the supernatural character of the Chris¬ 
tian religion, and laughed at the idea of miracles. He 
hated all cants, and despised modem society which he 
described as ‘without lungs, fast wheezing itself to 


392 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


death, in horrid convulsions, and deserving to die/ 
His doctrine is thus summed by the Dublin Review : 
f There is, properly speaking, no such thing as perma¬ 
nent and indestructible truth/ 

The following is a good specimen not only of Car¬ 
lyle’s skill to draw a good portrait, but also of his de¬ 
fiance of critical and grammatical rules. 

PORTRAIT OF FREDERICK THE GREAT. 

He is a king every inch of him, though without the trap¬ 
pings of a king. Presents himself in a Spartan simplicity of 
vesture : no crown, blit an old military cocked hat—generally 
old, or trampled and kneaded into an absolute softness if new; 
no sceptre but one like Agamemnon’s, a walking-stick cut from 
the woods, which serves also as a riding-stick (with which he 
hits the horse ‘between the ears,’ say authors); and for royal 
robes, a mere soldier’s blue coat with red facings,—coat likely 
to be old, and sure to have a good deal of Spanish snuff on the 
breast of it; rest of the apparel dim, unobtrusive in color or 
cut, ending in high overknee military boots, which may be 
brushed (and, I hope, kept soft with an underhand suspicion 
of oil), but are not permitted to be blackened or varnished,— 
Day and Martin with their soot-pots forbidden to approach. 
The man is not of godlike physiognomy, any more than of im¬ 
posing stature or custom: close-shut mouth with thin lips, 
prominent jaws and nose, receding brow, by no means of 
Olympian height ; head, however, is of long form, and has 
superlative gray eyes in it. Not what is called a beautiful 
man ; nor yet, by all appearance, what is called a happy. On 
the contrary, the face bears evidence of many sorrows, as they 
are termed, of much hard labor done in this world, and seems 
to anticipate nothing but more still coming. Quiet stoicism 
capable enough of what joys there were, but not expecting any 
worth mention; great unconscious and some conscious pride, 
well tempered with a cheery mockery of humor, are written on 
that old face, which carries its chin well forward, in spite of 
the slight stoop about the neck; snuffy nose, rather flung into 
the air, under its old cocked hat, like an old snuffy lion on the 
watch; and such a pair of eyes as no man, or lion, or lynx of 
that century bore elsewhere, according to all the testimony we 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


393 


have. ‘ Those eyes,’ says Mirabeau, ‘ which, at the bidding of 
his great soul, fascinated you with seduction or with terror.’ 
Most excellent, potent, brilliant eyes, swift-darting as the 
stars, steadfast as the sun; gray, we said, of the azure-gray 
color ; large enough, not of glaring size; the habitual expres¬ 
sion of them vigilance and penetrating sense, rapidity resting 
on depth, which is an excellent combination, and gives us the 
motion of a lambent outer radiance, springing from some 
great inner sea of light and fire in the man. The voice, if lie 
speak to you, is of similar physiognomy : clear, melodious, 
and sonorous; all tones are in it from that of ingenious in¬ 
quiry, graceful sociality, light flowing banter (rather prickly 
for most part), up to definite word of command, up to desolat¬ 
ing word of rebuke and reprobation. 

John Henry Newman, 1801-1890. 

Cardinal Newman, one of the most eminent writers 
of English prose, was the son of a London banker. 
He was first placed at school under Rev. I)r. Nich¬ 
olas at Ealing, and afterward was entered at Trin¬ 
ity College, Oxford, where he gained a scholarship in 
1818. Tie was elected a Fellow of Oriel College in 
1822. In 1824, he received ordination in the English 
Church, on the following year became Vice-Principal 
of Alban Hall, and, in 1826, Tutor in Oriel College. 
He was also, about this time. Vicar of St. Mary^s, Ox¬ 
ford, and one of the Select University Preachers. In 
the year 1845 he renounced Protestantism, and was re¬ 
ceived into the Catholic Church. After a short stay 
at Oscott with Dr. Wiseman, he was called to Rome, 
whence two years later, in 1848, he was sent by Pope 
Pius IX. to found the English branch of the Oratory of 
St. Philip Neri, at Birmingham. He was Rector of the 
Catholic University of Dublin from 1852 to 1860. In 
the latter year, having resigned the rectorship, he re¬ 
turned to Birmingham, where, as Superior of the Ora- 


394 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


tory, he continued to reside till his death. He was in 
this retreat when, in the spring of 1879, the voice of 
Leo XIII. sought him out, and, with the applause of the 
whole world, called him to sit among the Princes of the 
Church. 

Cardinal Newman was, both in his writings and 
his personal character, an object of peculiar interest 
to all classes of men. As a boy, he inspired almost love 
in the cold bosom of Dr., afterward Archbishop, 
Whately, who influenced Newman’s first views. When 
he became acquainted with Pusey, Hurrell Froude, 
and Keble, at Oxford, Whately’s influence was thrown 
off, and the more genial association of these new 
friends was warmly cultivated. The young tutor in 
Oriel was the leader, being abler than his contempora¬ 
ries (great men though they were), and quite sufficient 
of himself to bend the bow of Ulysses. The Tractarian 
movement, actually begun by Keble, was advanced 
by Newman, for whom it was only a stage, not a 
resting-place. Disraeli has asserted, in one of his 
works, that the revolution in religious thought which 
Cardinal Newman effected is the most momentous 
one in the religious history of England for the past 
three hundred years. 

Cardinal Newman’s works are marked by a discursive 
range of thought, a depth of learning, a felicity of ex¬ 
pression, a massive strength, and a beauty of style, 
equally displayed in the branches of philosophy, theol- 
ogy, patristic commentary, history, University educa¬ 
tion, romance, and poetrv. In his sketch of Cicero 
he unconsciously described himself, where he said: 
“Terence and Lucretius had cultivated simplicity; 
Cotta, Brutus, and Calvus, had attempted strength; 
but Cicero rather made a language than a st}de, yet not 
so much by the invention as by the combination of 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


395 


\ 70 rds. . . . His great art lies in the application of 
existing materials, in converting the very disadvantages 
of the language into beauties, in enriching it with cir¬ 
cumlocution and metaphors, in pruning it of harsh and 
uncouth expressions, in systematizing the structure of 
a sentence. This is that copin dicsndi which gained 
Cicero the high testimony of Caesar to his inventive 
powers, and which, we may add, constitutes him the 
greatest master of composition that the world has 
seen.” 

Of the thirty-four volumes published by Cardinal 
Newman, twelve comprise his Sermons, ten are mostly 
polemical. The other twelve embrace the following: 
Historical Sketches, in which are found several of his 
Lectures on Universities, those on The Turks, together 
with his essays on Cicero, Apollonius of Tyana, and 
some of the Fathers of the Church; Idea of a Univer¬ 
sity; Callista, a Sketch of the Third Century, in the 
form of a story; Loss and Gain, the story of a con¬ 
vert from Anglicanism ; Verses on Various Occasions, 
containing the wonderful Dream of Gerontius; Apol¬ 
ogia, a History of my Religious Opinions; and finally, 
his Essay on Assent, the most philosophical of his 
works. 

The great popularity of Cardinal Newman began 
principally in the year 1865, when the reckless imputa¬ 
tion of Canon Charles Kingsley gave him an opportu¬ 
nity of vindicating before the English-speaking world 
his character and line of conduct. Ten years later, 
the unaccountable Expostulation and Vaticanism of 
Mr. Gladstone were refuted with a decided triumph by 
a Letter and Postscript of the illustrious Oratorian. 
Long before he took his final rest, he had won the 
minds and hearts of an admiring world. 


396 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ST. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM AS AN ORATOR. 

Chrysostom had his own rostra, his own curia ; it was the 
Holy Temple, where his eloquence gained for him victories 
not less real, and more momentous, than the detection and 
overthrow of Catiline. Great as was his gift of oratory, it was 
not by the fertility of his imagination, or the splendor of his dic¬ 
tion, that he gained the surname of ‘ Mouth of Gold.’ We 
shall be very wrong if we suppose that fine expressions, or 
rounded periods, or figures of speech, were the credentials by 
which he claimed To be the first doctor of the East. His ora¬ 
torical power was but the instrument, by which he readily, 
gracefully, adequately expressed,—expressed without effort 
and with felicity,—the keen feelings, the living ideas, the ear¬ 
nest practical lessons which he had to communicate to his 
hearers. He spoke, because his heart, his head, were brimful 
of things to speak about. His elocution corresponded to that 
strength and flexibility of limb, that quickness of eye, hand, 
and foot, by which a man excels in manly games or in mechan¬ 
ical skill. It would be a great mistake, in speaking of it, to 
ask whether it was Attic or Asiatic, terse or flowing, when its 
distinctive praise was that it was natural. His unrivalled 
charm, as that of every really eloquent man, lies in his single¬ 
ness of purpose, his fixed grasp of his aim, his noble earnest¬ 
ness. A bright, cheerful, gentle soul; a sensitive heart, a 
temperament open to emotion and impulse; and all this eleva¬ 
ted, refined, transformed by the touch of heaven,—such was 
St. John Chrysostom; winning followers, riveting affections, 
by his sweetness, frankness, and neglect of self. In his labors, 
in his preaching, he thought of others only. 

THE CONVERSION OF THE ANGLO-SAXON PEOPLE. 

It is an old story and a familiar, and I need not go through 
it. I need not tell you, how suddenly the word of truth came 
to our ancestors in this island and subdued them to its gentle 
rule; how the grace of God fell on ‘them, and, without com¬ 
pulsion, as the historian tells us, the multitude became Chris¬ 
tian; how, when all was tempestuous, and hopeless, and dark, 
Christ like a vision of glory came walking to them on the 
waves of the sea. Then suddenly there was a great calm; a 
change came over the pagan people in that quarter of the 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


397 


country where the Gospel was first preached to them; and 
from thence the blessed influence went forth; it was poured 
out over the whole land, till, one and all, the Anglo-Saxon 
people were converted by it. In a hundred years the work was 
done; the idols, the sacrifices, the mummeries of paganism flit¬ 
ted away and w£ie not, and the pure doctrine and heavenly 
worship of the Cross were found in their stead. The fair form 
of Christianity rose up, and grew, and expanded, like a beauti¬ 
ful pageant from north to south; it was majestic, it was sol¬ 
emn, it was bright, it was beautiful and pleasant, it was sooth¬ 
ing to the griefs, it was indulgent to the hopes of man; it was 
at once a teaching and a worship; it had a dogma, a mystery, 
a ritual of its own; it had a hierarchical form. A brotherhood 
of holy pastors, with mitre and crosier and uplifted hand, 
walked forth and blessed and ruled a joyful people. The cru¬ 
cifix headed the procession, and simple monks were there with 
hearts in prayer, and sweet chants resounded, and the holy 
Latin tongue was heard, and boys came forth in white, swing¬ 
ing censers, and the fragrant cloud arose, and Mass was sung, 
and the saints were invoked; and, day after day, and in the 
still night, and over the woody hills and in the quiet plains, as 
constantly as sun and moon and stars go forth in heaven, so 
regular and solemn was the stately march or blessed services 
on earth, high festival, and gorgeous procession, and soothing 
dirge, and passing bell, and the familiar evening call to prayer; 
till he who recollected the old pagan time, would think it all 
unreal that he beheld and heard, and would conclude he did 
but see a vision, so marvellously was heaven let down upon 
earth, so triumphantly were chased away the fiends of dark¬ 
ness to their prison below. 


MASS. 

To me nothing is so consoling, so piercing, so thrilling, so 
overcoming, as the Mass, said as it is among us. I could at¬ 
tend Masses forever, and not be tired. It is not a mere form 
of words—it is a great»action, the greatest action that can be 
on earth. It is not the invocation merely, but, if I dare use 
the word, the evocation of the Eternal. He becomes present 
on the altar in flesh and blood, before whom angels bow and 
devils tiem de. This is that awful event which is the scope, 
and the interpretation, of every part of the solemnity. Words 
are necessary, but as means, not as ends; they arc not mere 


398 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


addresses to tlie throne of grace, they are instruments of what 
is far higher, of consecration, of sacrifice. They hurry on, as 
if impatient to fulfil their mission. Quickly they go, the 
whole is quick, for they are all parts of one integral action. 
Quickly they go, for they are awful words of sacrifice, they 
are a work too great to delay upon, as wlien # it was said in the 
beginning, “ What thou doest, do quickly.” Quickly they 
pass, for the Lord Jesus goes with them, as He passed along 
the lake in the days of his flesh, quickly calling first one and 
then another; quickly they pass, because as the lightning 
which sliinetli from one part of the heaven unto the other, so 
is the coming of the Son of Man. Quickly they pass, for they 
are as the words of Moses, when the Lord came down in the 
cloud, calling on the Name of the Lord as he passed by: ‘ The 
Lord, the Lord God, merciful and generous, long suffering, 
and abundant in goodness and truth.’ And as Moses on the 
mountain, so we too ‘ make haste and bow our heads to the 
earth, and adore.’ So we, all around, each in his place, look 
out for the great Advent, ‘ waiting for the moving of the wa¬ 
ter,’ each in his place, with his own heart, with his own w ants, 
with his own thoughts, with his own intentions, with his own 
prayers, separate but concordant, watching what is going 
on, watching its progress, uniting in its consummation; not 
painfully and hopelessly, following a hard form of prayer from 
beginning to end, but, like a concert of musical instruments, 
each different, but concurring in a sweet harmony, we take 
our post with God’s priest, supporting him, yet guided by 
him. There are little children tliero^ and old men, and simple 
laborers, and students in seminaries, priests preparing for 
Mass, priests making their thanksgiving, there are innocent 
maidens, and there are penitent sinners; but out of these many 
minds rises one Eucharistic hymn, and the great action is the 
measure and the scope of it. 

Henry Edward Manning, 1808 - 1892 . 

Henry Edward, Cardinal Manning, Archbishop of West¬ 
minster, exerted no less influence by his speeches and 
writings than by his position at the head of the Catholic 
hierarchy in England. The son of a respectable merchant 
of London and member of Parliament, he enjoyed all 
the advantages of the best education. At Harrow and 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


399 


Oxford, the talents and steady application of the young 
student won distinguished honors. Graduated in 1830, 
he was chosen Fellow of Merton College, and subse¬ 
quently one of the select preachers of the University. 
He could not escape the wonderful influence of Dr. 
Newman; he even became one of his most earnest 
admirers, but, a conservative by the nature of his mind 
and the bent of his eavly education, he belonged to the 
moderate, not the foremost, party of the Tractarians. 
When Newman joined the Catholic Church, Manning, 
with an influence second to none but that of Pusey, 
remained the cherished support and a bright ornament 
of the establishment. At the age of twenty-six, he 
was appointed to the charming rectory of Lavington in 
Sussex, where he undertook in earnest the problem of 
adapting to his church the doctrines, practices, and 
ceremonies of the Catholic religion. His promotion 
to the archdeaconsliip of Chichester, in 1840, which 
opened the way to the highest preferments, did not 
abate his religious zeal. For ten years he had fulfilled 
with flattering success the duties of his charge, when 
his good faith was ultimately put to the test. Two 
important events, the Hampden controversy and the 
Gorham case,* by placing the state above the episco- 


* In 1847, the Crown appointed Dr. Hampden to the Episcopal See of Here¬ 
ford, notwithstanding the fact that many bishops ai}d the authorities of 
Oxford looked upon him as a heretic. In vain 13 bishops and nearly 1700 
other clergymen protested against this nomination. The government per¬ 
sisted, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Sumner, declared publicly 
that he was bound to obey the Crown and consecrate Dr. Hampden. 

In 1849, a certain Mr. Gorham, nominated to a benefice in the diocese of 
Exeter, was rejected by the bishop on the plea that Mr. Gorham denied bap¬ 
tismal regeneration. The latter appealed to the Queen as the supreme head 
of the Church. Amidst the wildest excitement throughout the kingdom. 
Her Majesty in Council decided that, notwithstanding his denial of baptismal 
regeneration, Mr. Gorham was entitled to act as a clergyman of the Church 
of England, and should not be prevented from taking possession and spirit¬ 
ual charge of a parish in his own diocese of Exeter. 



400 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


pacy in spiritual matters of doctrine and discipline,* 
convinced Archdeacon Manning that Anglicanism 
could not be but a human institution. All earthly 
considerations, all present honors, all prospects of 
future dignity, gave way before this conviction, and in 
1851, he embraced the Catholic faith. As the death of 
his wife had left him free, he immediately sought the 
ranks of the clergy. It was a characteristic of his con¬ 
version that it did not entail the enmity of his co-relig¬ 
ionists. When, in 1857, he began as a Catholic priest 
to exercise his ministry among the poor of London, 
many in the higher classes of society, who, at Oxford 
and Chichester, had listened with admiration to his 
discourses, flocked again to him with the same eager¬ 
ness, veneration, and love. His indefatigable zeal for 
the salvation of souls, his administrative talents, and 
his success in the pulpit, soon brought him new honors. 
He received from Pope Pius IX. the title of D.D. with 
the office of Provost of the Chapter of Westminster, 
and the dignity of Prothonotary Apostolic. In 1805, 
he was appointed to succeed, as Archbishop of West¬ 
minster, the great Cardinal Wiseman, whose friend he 
had been. In this immense field his activity was devoted 
to good works of every kind, especially to such as regard 
temperance, education, and the welfare of the laboring 
classes. In founding and promoting the Kensington Col¬ 
lege for the higher education he had the chief share; and, 
when he bought a site for his cathedral, he declared that 
not one stone of the edifice would be laid till he had pro¬ 
vided a free Catholic school for every child of his flock. 

. * Every bishop of England, from the time of Elizabeth to that of Victoria, 
in his oath of homage, has on his knees confessed the following: “ Your Maj¬ 
esty is the only supreme governor of this your realm in spiritual and eccle¬ 
siastical things. I acknowledge that I hold the said bishopric, as well the 
spiritualities as the temporalities thereof, only of your Majesty.” 



THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 401 

In 1870, he took a conspicuous part in the deliberations of 
the Vatican Council, a short history of which he afterward 
gave to the public. Five years later, all England, not 
to say the whole world, applauded the act of Pius IX. 
calling Archbishop Manning to the Sacred College of 
Cardinals. 

The Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster was through¬ 
out his life a prodigious worker. Amidst the incessant 
toil of his ministry he found, time to write many books. 
They are mainly of a religious and controversial kind, in 
the form of lectures, sermons, pastoral letters, reviews. 
They are remarkable for a simple and direct eloquence, 
broadness of views, closeness of reasoning, clearness and 
energy of style. Before his conversion, he had already 
published several works of a religious character, but they 
were eclipsed by his later productions. In the first rank 
among .these we reckon the Lectures on the Four Great Evils 
of the Day , which are completed by his Lectures on the 
Fourfold Sovereignty of God. The four great evils of the 
day he considered to be: 1. The revolt of the intellect 
against God ; 2. The revolt of the will against God ; 8. The 
revolt of Society from God; 4. The course of the world. 
His Miscellanies comprise twenty-four essays, a few of 
which w r ere composed for the Dublin Review , and the rest 
for special occasions. The most striking of them, in our 
estimation, are the Lecture on Progress, addressed to a 
society of young men; The Dignity and Rights of Labor, 
a lecture delivered before the Institute of Leeds; the Letter 
on Ireland to Earl Gray; Ccesarism and Ultramontanism, 
read before the Academia; and The Independence of the 
Holy See, an able defence of the Pope’s temporal power. 
His other works are: The Temporal Mission of the Holy 
Ghost, The Internal Mission of the Holy Ghost, Petri Privi- 
legium, The Love of Jesus to Penitents, Confidence in God, 
The Blessed Sacrament, The Eternal Priesthood, Sermons and 
26 


402 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Vatican Decrees , and Civil Allegiance. In this last he con¬ 
futed the bold assertions of his former college companion 
and lifelong friend, Mr. Gladstone. 

The lofty character of Cardinal Manning, his generous 
sympathies, his enthusiastic devotion to the welfare of all 
classes of society, together with his eloquent writings, made 
him for many years one of the most popular personages in 
England, and powerfully contributed to break down some 
of the barriers raised,by prejudice against the holy apos¬ 
tolic Church of Rome. 


PROGRESS. 

Progress with us simple people means the growth and ripen¬ 
ing of anything from its first principles to its perfection. 

We distinguish between Progress which is growth, and Prog¬ 
ress which is decay; because decay is the reverse of growth, 
and it is a departure from first principles. It is the dissolution 
of perfection; and therefore we distinguish between growth 
and decay as between ripeness andTottenness—and growth we 
call progress, but decay we call ruin. Now I want to show 
what may be classified under progress or growth, and what 
under decay or ruin. 

The growth of an oak is a very intelligible thing. The acorn 
planted in the clay strikes its tap-root, then rises into a stem, 
and spreads into branches; and in the whole tree completes its 
symmetry, stature, and perfection,—this is an example of 
progress from a germ in nature. But when that oak has 
attained its maturity, and has run through its period of time, 
it begins to decay, which reverses this process. The sap sinks 
to the root, the leaves begin to fall, the sprays wither, the 
branches decay and fall from the trunk, the rot in the substance 
of the tree gradually spreads, the trunk becomes hollow, and 
the tree disappears in dust: this is, then, the reverse of prog¬ 
ress. The same is true of every fruit we hold in our hands; so 
Shakespeare tells us of man: 

“ And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe; 

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; 

And thereby hangs a tale.” 

Let us apply this to human things, and first to an individual 


THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD. 


403 


man. The idea of physical progress in man is, first of all, the 
growth from childhood to manhood, the complete expansion 
and development of the whole man in stature, sympathy, 
strength and countenance; the whole human being filling up 
as it were the outline and type which belongs not only to man 
in general, but to that particular individual—that is what we 
call Progress. Then there is the moral progress in every 
man; that is, the progress of his character, which begins in the 
self-control of the will and in obedience; then in the rectitude 
of conduct, and then again in prudence and the whole range of 
duty, and finally in excellence,—that is, in surpassing others 
according to the capacity of that which is in him by nature. 
For men are not all equal, they are variously endowed, and 
some have capacities and qualities and energies far beyond 
others; and each individual has a progress of his own, which 
means, as I said before, the filling up of that which is not only 
due to the type of race to which he belongs, but also to his own 
individual gifts and capacities. In like manner of intellectual 
progress: there is a passive intellect in us all, which first 
receives the instruction of teachers, and then becomes an active 
intellect, whereby we educate and form ourselves, and then 
that active intellect becomes reflective, and has a power of 
research and discovery. The whole intellect of the man is thus 
matured and ripened according to his capacities and circum¬ 
stances, and that from very small beginnings. 


Alfred Tennyson, 1809-1892. 

Alfred Tennyson was the most eminent poet of his gen¬ 
eration. He was born at Somersby, Lincolnshire. His 
father, an Anglican clergyman, was accomplished in lit¬ 
erature and art. Alfred, with his brothers Frederick and 
Charles, studied at Trinity College, Cambridge, where all 
three applied with success to poetry. The future laureate 
gained the chancellor’s medal through his poem Timbuctoo. 
He left the university before graduating, but only to devote 
himself more closely to his studies. A man of few friends, 
he was averse to the public gaze. Tennyson lived succes¬ 
sively in London, at Twickenham, at Petersfield, Hamp¬ 
shire, and for many years he alternated between Farring- 


404 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


ford, in the island of Wight, and Aldworth, Surrey, where 
he died. Under the administration of Sir Robert Peel he 
began to receive a pension of $1000 a year. In 1850 he 
succeeded Wordsworth as poet laureate, received the degree 
of D. C. L. from Oxford in 1855, and was raised to the 
peerage in 1883. 

The poetical productions of Tennyson kept pace with his 
promotions. His first publication, Poems by Two Brothers, 
was made in 1827, in conjunction with his brother Charles. 
Both Coleridge and Wordsworth thought more favorably 
of Charles than of Alfred. In 1830 the latter published 
Poems, Chiefly Lyrical , and another volume in 1832, which 
included The Lady of Shalott, with its flowing measure and 
peculiar system of rhyme; The Miller’s Daughter , with its 
beautiful songs ; Lady Clara Vere de Vere; The May Queen; 
The Lotos-Eaters, with its charming melody; The Choric 
Song; and The Death of the Old Year. Strange as it may 
appear, Coleridge said that “ the author had begun to write 
verses without very well understanding what metre was.” 
Tennyson remained silent for ten years. He read and 
thought, inquired and observed. Mediaeval romances, espe¬ 
cially the legends of King Arthur of Brittany, lie studied 
with delight. On his second appearance as a poet he at 
once took the highest place. “ He is decidedly the first of 
our living poets,’’ wrote Wordsworth to Henry Reed in 
1845, adding, in his characteristic way, “ You will be 
pleased to hear that he expressed, in the strongest terms, 
his gratitude to my writings.” What gave this pre-emi¬ 
nence to Tennyson was the two volumes which he issued in 
1842, especially the first instalment of the Idylls of the King, 
the Morte d’Arthur. The Idylls, which form the surest 
ground of his fame, cost him the labor of twenty-five years. 
Sir Walter Scott had already done much to shame the ignor¬ 
ance that sneered at the Dark Ages, and now Tennyson, 
drawing from the self-same source, produced one of the 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


405 


noblest creations of his genius. The logical development 
of the Idylls of the King is almost reversed in the order of 
publication. The sequence intended by the poet is the fol¬ 
lowing: 1st, The Coming of Arthur; 2d, Gareth and Lynette; 
3d, Geraint and Enid; 4th, Merlin and Vivien; 5th, Lance¬ 
lot and Elaine; 6th, The Holy Grail 7th, Pelleas and 
Ettarre; 8th, Guinevere; 9th, 'The Last Tournament; 10th, 
• The Passing of Arthur. This last scene of the Arthurian 
epic possesses a peculiar mystic charm. “ Deeply smitten 
through the helm,” Arthur has fallen; his knights are 
slain ; Sir Bedivere, the last of them, bears the king gently 
to a chapel near the bloody field, where there is 

A broken chancel with a broken cross. 

Twice the king orders the knight to take his brand Ex- 
calibur, 

And fling him far into the middle mere, 

and twice Bedivere is loth to obey; but when he saw the 
king’s wrath, he speedily rose and threw away the sword. 
Whereupon 

The great brand 

Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, 

And flashing round and round, and, whirled in an arch, 

Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, 

Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
By night with noises of the northern sea. 

So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: 

But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 

And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 

Then Arthur is borne on Sir Bedivere’s shoulders to the 
shores of the lake. The “ dusky barge ” nears them, 

Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, 


406 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


and in it the king is placed. Before it glides away, Arthur 
bids farewell to his afflicted knight Sir Bedivere, standing 
on the shore, in a great and truly Christian strain: 

The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 

And God fulfils himself in many ways, 

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 

If thou shouldst never see my face again, 

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 

For what are men better than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life within the brain, 

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those that call them friend? 

For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 

But now farewell. I am going a long way 
With these thou seest,—if indeed I go— 

(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt), 

To the island—valley of Avilion ; 

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 

Nor ever wind blows loudly : but it lies 
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns 
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, 

Where I will heal me of my grievous wound. 

The volume which contained the first publication of 
Morte d’Arthur possessed other notable treasures, like St. 
Simeon Stylites; Ulysses , a monologue; and LocJcsley Hall. 
St. Simeon is an earnest, graphic, and pathetic picture of a 
wonderful saint. The Princess, a Medley, published in 1847 
and improved afterward, gently questions the propriety of 
the modern ideas of woman’s right. The poem is inter¬ 
spersed with admirable songs: As through the land, Sweet 
and low, The splendor falls, Tears, idle tears, 0 swallow, 
swallow, Thy voice is heard, Home they brought her warrior 
dead, and Ash me no more. In 1850, Tennyson published 
anonymously that longest elegy of English literature, or, 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


407 


better, a series of short elegies, In Memoriam, the crystal¬ 
lized expression of seventeen years’ prolonged sorrow for 
the premature death of Arthur Hallam, his college friend 
and the betrothed of his sister. Many verses of this poem 
are favorite quotations, none more popular than 

’Tis better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all. 

The demise of the Iron Duke in 1852 gave occasion to the 
superb Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. Maud 
and Other Poems appeared three years after. Among these 
is found The Brook , an Idyll , one of Tennyson’s daintiest 
creations. The most noted poems published after this were: 
in 1864, Enoch Arden; NoHhern Farmer; Sea Dreams , for 
which he is said to have been paid fifty dollars a line; 
Ballads and Other Poems; in 1870, The Window, or Songs 
of the Wrens; in 1880, Ballads and Other Poems; in 1885, 
Tiresias and Other Poems; in 1889, Locksley Hall Sixty 
Years After; Demeter and Other Poems; in 1892, Akbar’s 
Dream and Other Poems. 

Tennyson was essentially a lyric poet, full of gentle and 
beautiful sentiments; but he lacked power to exhibit the 
stronger passions of the soul, to create characters, or to de¬ 
velop with effect a series of important events. This lim¬ 
itation, which may be discovered in his Idylls of the King 
and other poems, is made more evident by the comparative 
failure of his dramas, Queen Mary (1875), Harold , Becket , 
The Cup, The Falcon, Promise of May, and The Foresters. 
In his historical plays he is not true to historical charac¬ 
ters nor to the spirit of the times. To give two examples: 
he makes Harold speak in the eleventh century as a bigoted 
Protestant or downright infidel of the present day, while 
Mary Tudor, the stately queen, dwindles in his drama to 
the proportions of a weak, silly woman, who by and by be¬ 
comes a tigress in human shape. It seems as if Tennyson 


408 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


had wished in these dramas to efface the fair pictures of 
Catholic influence he had hitherto drawn. 

Crossing the Bar , written about a year before his death, 
is still in the laureate’s best style. 

CROSSING THE BAR. 

Twilight and evening bell, 

And after that the dark ! 

And may there be no sadness of farewell 
When I embark; 

For though from out our bourne of time and place 
The flood may bear me far, 

I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
When I have crossed the bar. 

Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me! 

And may there be no moaning of the bar 
When I put out to sea. 

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 

Too full for sound and foam, 

When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home. 

THE BUGLE SONG. 

The splendor falls on castle walls 
And snowy summits old in story: 

Tlie long light shakes across the lakes, 

And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, 

And thinner, clearer, farther going! 

O sweet and far from cliff and scar 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: 

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


409 


O love, they die in yon rich sky, 

They faint on hill or field or river: 

Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 

And grow forever and forever. 

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 


1 . 

Break, break, break, • 

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 

And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 

2 . 

O, well for the fisherman’s boy, 

That he shouts with his sister at play! 

O, well for the sailor lad, 

That he sings in his boat on the bay! 

3. 

And the stately ships go on 
To their haven under the hill; 

But, O, for the touch of a vanished hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still! 

4. 

Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! 

But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
Will never come back to me. 


Thomas William Allies, 1813- 

Among the writers of the nineteenth century, few 
have exhibited such grasp of mind as Mr. Allies. If 
his works have not been more popular, the fault is not 
with him, but with the spirit of the age, which either 
ignores the books that stigmatize its errors, or is too 


410 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


frivolous to glance at a volume that is not ‘ plentifully 
illustrated by the engraver or the imagination of the 
author . 9 

Mr. Allies belongs to an ancient and respectable 
family, originally seated in Worcestershire. At an 
early age, he distinguished himself at Eton, and after¬ 
wards at Oxford, where he gained two scholarships. 
He was not twenty years old, when he took his degree 
with first class in classics.. Elected Fellow of Wadham 
College in 1833, he availed himself of his income to 
travel in France and Italy. On his return after three 
years, he determined to take Orders in the Estab- 
lished Church. We have Mr. Allies’s own word that 
he was ordained without the slightest instruction in 
theology, not through his fault, but because the candi¬ 
dates for orders were dispensed from attending the 
heterodox lectures of Dr. Hampden. The young cler¬ 
gyman began now to feel the influence of Dr. Newman, 
and from that time forth, he lived more and more 
upon the mind of the great leader. During the follow¬ 
ing thirteen years, as private tutor, as Examining 
Chaplain to Dr. Bloomfield, Bishop of London, and as 
rector of Launton in Oxfordshire, he never ceased to 
look for that true Church, of which the Anglican sys¬ 
tem pretends to be a portion. When Dr. Newman en¬ 
tered the Catholic Church, Mr. Allies became more 
anxious. For five years, he gave all his thoughts to 
prayer and the study of the primacy of St. Peter and 
his successors, resolved to follow his conviction wher¬ 
ever it might lead him. This continual state of anx¬ 
iety, the connection of the practical issue with his 
temporal fortunes, the welfare of his wife and children, 
all these circumstances constituted a trial from the 
sight of which, even after thirty years, he still recoils 
with horror. An immature fruit of his studies was 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 411 

the work entitled: The Church of England cleared from 
the Charge of Schism, which he afterwards took the 
pains to refute. His eyes were gradually opening to 
the light of truth, when two facts revealed to him the 
false ground and untenable position of Anglicanism. 
The first was his discovery that the Crown holds its 
spiritual power over the Church of England, not 
through usurpation, but from an act of Parliament 
passed in the reign of Henry VIII. The second was 
the decision of the Crown in the Gorham case. With 
a mind well made up, he abandoned his benefice, and 
abjured the Anglican heresies in September, 1850. 
Thus after so many years of inward struggle was Mr. 
Allies safely landed on the rock of Peter; and, for thir¬ 
ty-five years, he has not ceased to testify his joy and 
satisfaction at the step then taken. In 1853, he was 
appointed to deliver lectures on the philosophy of his¬ 
tory in the Catholic University of Dublin. Although 
but one lecture was actually delivered, yet the appoint¬ 
ment was the occasion of his greatest work, a sort of 
philosophical history of the Church. In the first three vol¬ 
umes, entitled Formation of Christendom, he contrasts the 
external majesty of the Roman empire with its deep rot¬ 
tenness inside, and shows that the Christian faith was a 
new creation which regenerated individual man, the fam¬ 
ily, and society. In the fourth volume, Church and State, 
he lays down the principles which underlie the relation of 
the two powers, and applies these principles to the history 
of the first three hundred years of the Church. In the 
fifth volume, The Throne of the Fisherman built by the Car¬ 
penter's Son, he first states that three factors produce, and 
explain to the world, the continuous and ever-increasing 
influence of the Holy See. The three factors are: a 
Divine Institution ; the life of faith in the Church; the 
external world in the hands of Providence. The writer 


412 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


then accounts by these three factors for the period of history 
which extends from the ISTicene Council to the pontificate 
of St. Leo the Great and the fall of the Western Roman 
empire. The sixth volume, The Holy See and ihe Wan¬ 
dering of the Nations, and the seventh, Peter's Pock in Mo¬ 
hammed's Flood, bring the history to the crowning of Charle¬ 
magne as emperor in 800. Mr. Allies is rearing a monument 
which recalls to mind Bossuet’s Discours sur VHistoire 
Universelle and St. Augustine’s De Civitate Dei, with 
which alone it can be compared. With erudition and 
broadness of view the author combines 1 a grace of style 
formed on classic models, and a Catholic spirit imbibed 
from the fathers and doctors of the Church.’ 

Besides this great work, Mr. Allies has composed many 
others, the chief of which have been collected under the 
titles of Per Grucem ad Lucem and A Life's Decision . 
These writings relate principally to the royal supremacy 
in the Church of England, and the supremacy of St. Peter 
and his successors. The arguments are both logical and 
exhaustive. 

CICERO AND ST. AUGUSTINE. 

I cannot but admit the advantage which Augustine pos¬ 
sessed over Cicero in natural genius as distinct from the gifts 
of divine grace. The contrast which lie himself marks be¬ 
tween Cicero and Varro, that they who loved words found 
tlieir pleasure in the former, while they w T ho loved things 
found instruction in the latter, might serve to express the dif¬ 
ference between the genius of the Roman rhetorician and the 
Christian thinker. Augustine’s mind is in every way deeper 
and larger than the mind of Cicero, more acute, and more ac¬ 
curate; and, what is marvellous, he works greater wonders 
with his old, refuse, worn-out Latin of the fifth century, than 
the master and maker of Roman style did with the virgin ore 
of Latium, which he fused in the laboratory of his mind, and 
poured out tempered and wrought to express Grecian thought. 
For, Augustine took up these half-defaced rumps of metal, 
which had served to express the images of common things, 
and made them express metaphysical truths which never were 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


413 


disclosed to Cicero’s eye. Cicero, indeed, philosophizes; but 
Augustine is the parent of mental philosophy; in him our own 
age seems to live and breathe, gazing inwards with intense in¬ 
trospection. Cicero is acquainted with outward society, is a 
man of wit, learning, and letters, but he never seems to break 
through the crust of human nature into the man; whereas it 
may be doubted whether any human eye saw deeper than St. 
Augustine into the soul’s secrets, or exposed them more lu¬ 
cidly to view. Cicero’s letters give us a faithful picture of a 
great man’s petty weaknesses, vanity, and dissimulation, of 
all the falsehood and corruption which saddened Roman soci¬ 
ety at the time. But St. Augustine’s letters and confessions, 
while they expose his natural weakness with a scalpel which 
uncovers the most -secret fibres of our being, show the same 
man corrected and exalted, until he became a fountain-head 
of knowledge to every inquirer, an instructor in virtue to 
every wrestler with his own heart. 


Aubrey de Yere, 1814- 

Mr. Aubrey de Yere is the third son of the late Sir 
Aubrey de Yere, Bart., distinguished for his dramatic 
poem of Mary Tudor. He was born at Currah Chase, 
county of Limerick, and educated at Trinity College, 
Dublin. From his early years he showed a predilection 
for Anglo-Irish history. Later on, when a storm of 
newspaper invective was raging against Ireland, he 
made a retort in his volume entitled English Misrule 
and Irish Misdeeds. The many articles on the Irish 
Poor Law, Colonization, Education, the Irish Church, 
which he has since contributed to the leading Reviews 
of the kingdom, have exerted no small influence on 
public opinion. 

About the year 1850, he published his Picturesque 
Sketches of Greece and Turkey , the prose form of which 
hardly conceals the author's poetic vein. The great 
event of his life, as he calls it, was his conversion to the 
Catholic Church, in 1851, a divine mercy for which he 


414 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


has never ceased to he grateful. His faith, and that 
which is inseparable from it, his patriotism, have been 
the chief sources of his poetical inspiration, as may be 
seen by the very titles of most of his poems. May Car¬ 
ols form a rich bouquet for the altar of the Madonna. 
The Legends of St. Patrick paint in radiant colors the 
glorious sunrise of Ireland’s faith, while Inisfail takes 
up the account of the same faith at the Norman inva¬ 
sion, passes through the woes of that painful elegy—the 
Wars of Religion and the Penal Laws—and celebrates 
the final victory through the endurance of the sons of 
St. Patrick. The Legends of Saxo?i Saints, published 
as late as 1879, relate some of the heroic deeds achieved 
by Christianity in England during the first century of 
its existence. There is nothing more elevating, noth¬ 
ing more touching than those scenes of a truly Chris¬ 
tian age; but the narrative is too strictly historical to 
have the continuous charm of poetry. 

Without apparent effort, and certainly with gratify¬ 
ing success, Mr. de Yere passed from lyrical and narra¬ 
tive to a higher kind of poetry, the dramatic. His two 
productions in this line, Alexander the Great and St. 
Thomas of Canterbury show no ordinary power of del¬ 
ineating characters and developing incidents. The 
person of Alexander stands out prominently as a type 
of pagan pride, ambition, self-glorification, while St. 
Thomas is a model of Christian heroism, sublimely 
firm and humble. None but a Catholic poet could have 
done justice to the character of Becket. 

Besides the works already mentioned, Mr. de Vere 
has written Antar and Zara, an Eastern romance; 
'Lite Fall of Rora, a fragment of lyrical drama, written 
in his youth; The Search after Proserpine, a masque; 
several hundred Sonnets ; many Odes and Miscellaneous 
Poems . The Lines Written near Shelley’s House and 


TIIE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


415 


the Miserere in the Sistine Chapel deserve a special at¬ 
tention. 

Mr. de Yere is a disciple and warm admirer of Words¬ 
worth. In his early poetry he falls into the character¬ 
istic defect of his master, a bald simplicity of thought 
and diction; but, in the maturity of his powers, he has 
found out for himself an untrodden path, lit up with 
supernatural light. His verse has not the musical 
smoothness of Tennyson’s numbers, nor the perfect 
modulation of Swinburne’s, but it has a purpose far 
loftier than tlpeirs. A layman of rank, he has not 
shrunk from confessing his faith in saints and miracles, 
in the presence of a world of proud scoffers. 


BECIvET. 

(From St. Thomas of Canterbury.) 

Bishops of England! 

For many truths by you this day enforced, 

Hear ye in turn but one. The Church is God’s: 
Lords, were it ours, then might we traffic with it; 
At will make large its functions, or contract; 
Serve it or sell; worship or crucify. 

I say the Church is God’s; for He beheld it, 

His thought, ere time began; counted its bones, 
Which in His book were writ. I say that He 
From His own side in water and in blood 
Gave birth to it on Calvary, and caught it, 

Despite the nails, His Bride, in His own arms: 

I say that He, a spirit of clear heat, 

Lives in its frame, and cleanses with pure pain 
His sacrificial precinct, but consumes 
The chaff with other ardors. Lords, I know you; 
What done ye have, and what intend ere yet 
Yon sun that rises weeping sets this night; 

And therefore bind I with this charge your souls: 
If any secular court shall pass its verdict 
On me, your lord, or ere that sin be sinned, 


416 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


I bid you flee that court; if secular arm 
Attempt me, lay thereon the Church’s ban, 

Or else against you I appeal to Rome. 

To-day the heathen rage—I fear them not: 

If fall I must, this hand, ere yet I fall, 

Stretched from the bosom of a peaceful gown 
Above a troubled king and darkening realm, 

Shall send God’s sentence forth. My lords, farewell 1 


SONNET. 

The Centenary of American Liberty . 

A century of sunrises hath bowed 

Its fulgent forehead ’neath the ocean floor 

Since first upon the West’s astonished shore, 

Like some huge Alp forth-struggling through the cloud 
A new-born nation stood, to Freedom vowed: 

Within that time how many an Empire hoar 
And young Republic, flushed with wealth and war, 

Alike have changed the ermine for the shroud! 

O ‘ sprung from earth’s first blood.’ O tempest-nursed! 

For thee what Fates ? I know not. This I know, 

The soul’s great freedom gift, of gifts the first— 

Thou first on man in fulness didst bestow: 

Hunted elsewhere, God’s Church with thee found rest:— 

Thy future’s Hope is she—that queenly Guest. 

John Buskin, 1819- 

Jolm Buskin lias enlisted the interest and admiration 
of all readers by the eminent qualities of his works on 
art. From liis tenderest years, he was trained by his 
mother in the severe discipline of religious and literary 
culture, and taught by his father to seek the most beau¬ 
tiful in nature and art. He expressed, when not yet 
four years of age, his love for ‘the blue hills/ At Ox¬ 
ford, where he was educated as a gentleman commoner, 
he gained the Newdigate Prize for English poetry. He 
first applied to painting as a profession, but, after a few 
years, exchanged the pencil for the pen. At twenty- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


417 


four, he published his first volume on Modern Painters, 
not ‘ for fame, or for money, or for conscience 7 sake, 
but of necessity, 7 to bring about in favor of Nature a 
reaction against the past four hundred years. The 
book was treated as contemptible and mischievous, 
even its merits of style were overlooked. The four 
volumes which followed from 1846 to 1863 gradually 
Avon the favor of the public. He had, meanwhile, 
turned to architecture and evinced his predilection for 
the old gothic style in two great works, The Seven 
Lamps of Architecture , and The Stones of Venice. 
Many other writings, principally on art, criticism, and 
social reform, he has since published, among which 
are Notes on the Construction of Sheepfolds (1851), The King 
of the Golden River (1851), A Joy For Ever, The Two Paths 
(1854), Unto this Last (1862), Lectures on Art, Mornings 
in Florence, Munera I J ulveris (1862), Sesame and Lilies 
(1865), The Crown of Wild Olive (1866), Time and Tide 
by Wear and Tyne (1868), The Queen of the Air (1869), 
Fors Clavigera (1871), The Eagle's Nest, Aratra Pentelici 
(1872), Arrows of the Chace (1840-1880), Praiterita (1885) ; 
but, in soundness of thought or charm of language, the 
earlier works have not been surpassed. Truthfulness, 
wealth*of fancy and imagination, harmony of style, and 
a wonderful suggestiveness characterize his writings. “ It 
is a tenet of Ruskin’s art philosophy that the principles 
fundamental to art are fundamental to all true life, and 
therefore applicable to every department of social progress.” 
It has been his care to inculcate that ‘ whatever is great in 
human art is the expression of man’s delight in God’s 
work,’ and to insist upon a pure heart and earnest mind 
as essential to success. 

Mr. Ruskin is also endowed with the kindest and 
most generous disposition. With great simplicity he 
has told the readers of, Fors Clavigera the various bene-. 

27 


418 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


factions by which he has given away the greater portion 
of his large fortune. In religion, he began life as a 
follower of the Evangelical party, but he has since 
drifted to Broad Church principles, and he now laughs 
at the belief that ‘ a bad translation of a group of books 
of various qualities accidentally associated, is the word 
of God.’ It is to be hoped that his abundant alms will 
yet bring him over to that Church which alone is ‘a 
pillar and ground of the truth/ 

In 1893, Ruskin was appointed by Mr. Gladstone to suc¬ 
ceed Alfred Tennyson as poet laureate. 


THE HOUSE FLY. 

(From The Queen of the Air.) 

I believe we can nowhere find a better type of a perfectly free 
creature than in the common house fly. Not free only, but 
brave; and irreverent to a degree which I think no human re¬ 
publican could by any philosophy exalt himself to. There is no 
courtesy in him; he does not care whether it is king or clown 
whom he teases; and in every step of his swift mechanical 
march, and in every pause of his resolute observation, there is 
one and the same expression of perfect egotism, perfect inde¬ 
pendence and self-confidence, and conviction of the world’s 
having, been made for flies. Strike at him with yo$r hand; 
and to him, the mechanical fact and external aspect of the 
matter is, what to you it would be, if an acre of red clay, ten 
feet thick, tore itself up from the ground in one massive field, 
hovered over you in the air for a second, and came crashing 
down with an aim. That is the external aspect of it; the inner 
aspect, to his fly’s mind, is of a quite natural and unimportant 
occurrence—one of the momentary conditions of his active 
life. He steps out of the way of your hand, and alights on the 
back of it. You cannot terrify him, nor govern him, nor per¬ 
suade him, nor convince him. He has his own positive opin¬ 
ion on all matters; not an unwise one, usually, for his own 
ends; and will ask no advice of yours. He has no work to do— 
no tyrannical instinct to obey. The earthworm has his dig¬ 
ging; the bee her gathering and building; the spider her cun- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


419 


liing net-work; the ant lier treasury and accounts. All these 
are comparatively slaves, or people of vulgar business. But 
your fly, free in the air, free in the chamber—a black incarna¬ 
tion of caprice—wandering, investigating, flitting, flirting, 
feasting at his will, with rich variety of choice in feast, from 
the heaped sweets in the grocer’s window to those of the 
butcher’s back-yard, and from the galled place on your cab- 
liorse’s back to the brown spot in the road, from which, as the 
lioof disturbs him, he rises with angry republican buzz—what 
freedom is like liis ? * 

MOUNTAINS. 

(From Modern Painters.) 

It was absolutely necessary that such eminences should be 
created, in order to fit the earth in any wise for human habita¬ 
tion; for, without mountains the air could not be purified, nor 
the flowing of the rivers sustained, and the earth must have 
become for the most part desert plain, or stagnant marsh. 
But the feeding of the rivers and the purifying of the winds 
are the least of the services appointed to the hills. To fill the 
thirst of the human heart for the beauty of God’s working, to 
startle its lethargy with the deep and pure agitation of aston¬ 
ishment, are their missions. They are as a great and noble ar¬ 
chitecture; first giving shelter, comfort, and rest; and covered 
also with mighty sculpture and painted legend. It is impos¬ 
sible to examine in their connected system the features of even 
the most ordinary mountain scenery, without concluding that 
it liasdbeen prepared in order to unite as far as possible, and 
in the closest compass, every means of delighting and sancti¬ 
fying the heart of man. “As far as -possible” that is, as far 
as is consistent with the fulfilment of the sentence of condem¬ 
nation on the whole earth. Death must be upon the hills; and 
the cruelty of tlie tempests smite them, and the brier and 
thorn spring up upon them: but they so smite, as to bring 
their rocks into their fairest forms, and so spring as to make 
the very desert blossom as the rose. . . . Inferior hills ordi¬ 
narily interrupt, in some degree, the richness of the valleys 
at their feet, but the great mountains lift the lowlands on their 
aides. Let the reader imagine, first, the appearance of the 
most varied plain of some richly cultivated country; let him 
imagine it dark with graceful woods, and soft with deepest 
pastures; let him fill the space of it, to the utmost horizon, 


420 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


with innumerable and changeful incidents of scenery and life; 
leading pleasant streamlets through its meadows, strewing 
clusters of cottages beside their banks, tracing sweet footpaths 
through its avenues, and animating its fields with happy flocks, 
and slow wandering.spots of cattle; and when he has wearied 
himself with endless imagining, and left no space without 
some loveliness of its own, let him conceive all this great plain, 
with its infinite treasures of natural beauty and happy human 
life, gathered up in God’s hands from oue edge of the horizon 
to the other like a woven garment* and shaken into deep fall¬ 
ing folds, as the robes droop from a king’s shoulders; all its 
bright rivers leaping into cataracts along the hollows of its 
fall, and all its forests rearing tlremselves aslant against its 
slopes, as a rider rears himself back when his horse plunges; 
and all its villages nestling themselves into the new windings 
of its glens; and all its pastures thrown into steep waves of 
greensward, dashed with dew along the edges of their folds, 
and sweeping down into endless slopes, with a cloud here and 
there lying quietly, half on the grass, half in the air; and he 
will have as yet, in all this lifted world, only the foundations 
of one of the great Alps. 

OTHER WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

James Beattie (1735-1803), a Professor of Moral Philosophy and Logic in 
Aberdeen, Scotland, is chiefly known as the author of The Minstrel. This is a 
didactic poem, in the style and stanza of Spenser, designed ‘ to trace the prog¬ 
ress of a poetical genius born in a rude age, from the first dawn of fancy 
and reason, till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appear¬ 
ing in the world as a minstrel.’ The character of Edwin, the minstrel, is well 
drawn; and the work is remarkable throughout for harmony of style, the 
richness of the images, and the elevation of the moral tone. His Essay on 
Truth , which he wrote to counteract the infidel works of Hume, obtained great 
success during his lifetime, but is now almost forgotten. Beattie found 
friends and admirers, not only among his Scotch contemporaries, but also 
among the great wits of the time in England, as Burke, Dr. Johnson, Gold¬ 
smith, and Reynolds. 

James Macpherson (1722-1803), a Scotch political writer, acquired great 
notoriety by publishing what he declared to be the translation of Ossian's 
poems, Fingal and 'Femora , from Gaelic materials gathered up in the High¬ 
lands. It is now generally believed that Macpherson was the principal author 
of these compositions. They ai*e written in a florid prose, bordering on bom¬ 
bast, and describe stirring events of Celtic life. 

Riciiard Brinsley B. Sheridan (1751-1816), the son of Thomas Sheridan, 
the actor and biographer, is justly celebrated as a writer of comedies and a 
parliamentary orator. He was born in Dublin, and educated at Harrow, in 
England. In his youth, he was for a long time thought to be an impenetra- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


421 


ble dunce. In 1785 he published the earliest of his comedies, The Rivals, 
which was soon followed by The Duenna, a comic opera, The School for Scan¬ 
dal, a comedy, and The Critic, a Tragedy Rehearsed, a farce. These plays ob¬ 
tained immediate success, and have placed their author in the first rank of 
dramatists. He wrote also Pizarro, a tragedy, adapted from the German of 
Kotzebue, A Trip to Scarborough, a comedy, and many short poems. When 
he was at the height of his fame as a writer of dramas, Sheridan entered 
Parliament as a supporter of the Whig party. His reputation as an orator 
rests on his two speeches against Warren Hastings. Of the first of these, 
Burke declared it to be ‘ the most astonishing effort of eloquence, argument, 
and wit, united, of which there was any record or tradition.’ Unfortunately, 
the report of it was imperfect and incorrect. Byron thus expressed his 
opinion of Sheridan: “ He has written the best comedy (School for Scandal), 
the best opera {The Duenna), the best farce {The Critic), the best monody 
{Verses on Garrick), and, to crown all, he has delivered the very best oration 
ever conceived or heard in this country.” The fame of Sheridan was no 
check upon the extravagance and carelessness of his living. The latter 
years of his life were embittered by continual but useless struggles against 
poverty and disappointment. 

Miss Jane Austen (1775-1 SIT) wrote six novels of great merit. Her pecu¬ 
liar gift lay in the exquisite touch, which renders commonplace things and 
characters interesting, from the truth of the description and the sentiment.’ 
Sir Walter Scott, who was a great admirer of her talent, mentions that he 
read three times her very finely written novel of Pride and Prejudice. Her 
other novels are: Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Emma, Northanger 
Abbey, and Persuasion. 

Dr. John Milner (1752-1823), for twenty-three years Vicar Apostolic of the 
Midland District, was a stout and uncompromising defender of Catholic 
rights and principles. His principal writings are : an excellent Life of Dr. 
Hornyold, one of his predecessors as Vicar Apostolic, and author of Com¬ 
mandments and Sacraments ; a History of Winchester, a standard work of 
topography ; Letters to a Prebendary ; Supplementary Memoirs, intended 
to rectify Charles Butler’s Memoirs of English Catholics ; and, most impor¬ 
tant of all. End of Religious Controversy, an explanation of Catholic 
doctrines, which has done immensely to remove prejudices against the 
Church. 

William Hazlitt (1778-1830), the son of a Unitarian clergyman, was a 
brilliant critic and essayist whose works well repay the reading. They 
consist of the following: Characters of Shakespeare's Plays (1817); A View of 
the English Stage (1818); eight Lectures on the English Poets (1818); eight Lec¬ 
tures on the English Comic Writers (1819); eight Lectures on the Literature of the 
Elizabethan Age (1821); Table Talk (1824), which contains sixty-six Essays on 
Books, Men, and Things (1824); The Spirit of the Age; or, Contemporary Por¬ 
traits (1825). Prominent among these last is Hazlitt’s delineation of his 
friend Charles Lamb. 

William Roscoe (1753-1831) was a banker of Liverpool, who devoted his 
leisure hours to the cultivation of art and literature. His reputation as a 
writer rests on two considerable works of biography, The Life of Lorenzo 
de' Medici, published in 1796, and The Life and Pontificate of Leo X., in 
1805. The first of these works, prepared with great care, gave him a rank 
among the most distinguished authors of the day. The second work, 


422 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


although not less elaborate, did not obtain the same success, numbers of its 
biassed readers being displeased with many admissions favorable to the 
Catholic Church. In 1827, the great gold medal of the Royal Society of Lit¬ 
erature was awarded to Roscoe for his merits as a historian. Pecuniary em¬ 
barrassments clouded his latter days, and compelled him to sell his library, 
pictures, and other works of art. Irving has left, in his Sketch Book, a 
touching testimony to the qualities of that good and honest writer. 

Charles Butler (1750-1832), a nephew of Alban Butler, was the first Eng¬ 
lish Catholic barrister since the Revolution of 1688, but he never argued but 
one case. His chief work is Historical Memoirs of the English, Irish, and 
Scottish Catholics since the Reformation. Useful as these Memoirs are in 
many respects, they so abound with inaccuracies that they seldom can be 
fully relied upon. His desire of compromise between Catholics and Pro¬ 
testants made him a forerunner of the so-called Liberal Catholics. 

Bishop James Doyle (1786-1834) made his name famous by the vigor and 
skill with which, at a period of great agitation, he defended the social and 
religious rights of his countrymen. Many of his writings appeared under 
the signature of J. K. L., James of Kildare and Leighlin. His Letters in Re¬ 
ply to Dr. Magee, Protestant Archbishop of Dublin ; his Vindication of 
Catholic Principles, his twelve Letters on the State of Ireland, and many 
other productions, show a master mind, which was able to silence calumni¬ 
ators, undeceive the credulous, and instruct the ignorant, while his Pas¬ 
toral to Ribbonmen discovers the enlightened zeal of the good prelate, bring¬ 
ing back to the spirit of the Gospel the straying sheep of his flbck. His evi¬ 
dence before a Committee of the House of Lords gave the greatest credit to 
his ripe scholarship and vast knowledge. “You are examining Doyle,” 
said a peer to the Duke of Wellington. “No, no,” replied the Iron Duke 
dryly ; “ Doyle is examining us. That Doyle,” he continued, “ has a prodi¬ 
gious mind ; his head is as clear as rock-water.” He had been fifteen years 
a bishop, when he fell a victim to consumption. Doyle will remain one of 
the brightest and purest glories of the Green Isle, which was so dear to his 
heart. 

James Hogg (1770-183*3), known as the Ettrick Shepherd, had no more 
than six months’ schooling, and these before the age of eight. He wrote 
many works in verse and prose, the principal of which is The Queen's Wake . 
It contains seventeen ballads, the most popular of which is Kilmeny. 

Mrs. Felicia Hemans— Miss Browne—(1794-1835) is well known for many 
poems of great elegance and harmony. During her life and for many years 
after her death, she was a great favorite even with such severe critics as 
Lord Jeffrey ; but, amidst the mass of writings that emerge daily from the 
press, her poems are now comparatively neglected. 

Gerald Griffin (1803-1840), the author of The Collegians, belonged to a 
respectable Irish family. Though he never enjoyed the benefits of a college 
course, he was able to produce, at eighteen, a drama which was highly ap¬ 
preciated by John Banim, his friend and compatriot, but which, with many 
other manuscripts, he afterwards destroyed. In his twentieth year, with 
but scanty resources, possessing no friends in London, unknown and unwill¬ 
ing to depend on patronage of any kind, Griffin came to the great metrop¬ 
olis, a seeker after literary fame. With unbent energy he struggled for sev¬ 
eral years, amidst distress of body and mind, obliged to write during entire 
days and the greater part of nights. The first considerable work that re- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


423 


vealed his name and merit was Hollandtide, a series of Irish tales. His 
reputation was raised higher by the Tales of the Munster Festivals, and 
higher still by The Collegians. In the midst of his success, when a brilliant 
career was now opening before him, he began to see the hollowness of all 
human fame. He wrote other works, as The Invasion , a picture of ancient 
Irish life, The Rivals, The Duke of Monmouth, and Tales of my Neighbor¬ 
hood, but he could no longer throw his whole soul into his subject. In all his 
writings he had ever aimed at a moral end, but now he thought it almost im¬ 
possible to compose a novel in which deep interest would be combined with 
perfect morality. As time advanced, he surrendered himself more and more 
to the impressions of faith; and finally, in 1838, he took the decisive step of 
entering the Institute of the Christian Brothers. The earnestness with which 
he sought perfection in his holy vocation, was rewarded with a sense of inte¬ 
rior peace and contentment, which, in his own words, ‘ he would not ex¬ 
change for the fame of all the Scotts and Shakespeares that ever strutted 
their hour upon the stage of this little Brief play which they call life.’ 
His religious career was fervent, but short. Before two years had elapsed, 
he was carried off by a contagious fever. Besides his novels, Gerald Griffin 
wrote several plays, one of which, Gysippus, was performed with great suc¬ 
cess at Drury Lane, in 1812 ; it was one of the pieces selected by Macready 
at the time when he strove to restore the classical drama to the stage. Be¬ 
sides his plays, he composed many short poems, remarkable for purity and 
elegance of diction, elevation of thought, and a rare delicacy of sentiment. 
Had he not been taken off so soon after entering a religious life, we might 
have expected far higher products from a genius matured by the lessons of 
experience, and illumined by the pure lights of Christian spirituality. 

Thomas Arnold (1795-1842), the celebrated head-master of Rugby School, 
is the author of a standard History of Rome, which, however, extends no 
further than the second Punic War. He is also known for an edition of 
Thucydides, which is highly commended, and eight Lectures on Modern 
History, delivered at Oxford during the last two years of his life. 

John Banim (1798-1842) is a celebrated writer of tragedies and novels of 
Irish life. It was by his sole merit that he made his way to literary distinc¬ 
tion in the English metropolis. His best tragedy, Damon and Pythias, was 
introduced upon the stage by the celebrated actors Macready and Kemble. 
His novels are The Tales of the O'Hara Family; The Boyne Water ; The 
Croppy; The Anglo-Irish; The Ghost-Hunter; The Denounced; The 
Smuggler ; The Mayor of Windgap ; and Father Connell. ‘ A sort of over¬ 
strained excitement, a wilful dwelling upon turbulent and unchastened pas¬ 
sions,’ disfigure his writings. 

Thomas Hood (1798-1845), the famous humorist, tried the ‘ lofty desk ’ of 
the counting-house and the engraver's point, before he became a profes¬ 
sional writer. He contributed many articles in verse and prose to various 
magazines, and edited for some time one of his own. The most popular of 
his compositions are the three tragic poems so well known as The Song of 
the Shirt, The Bridge of Sighs, and The Dream of Eugene Aram. His 
Haunted House is, in the language of Poe, most thoroughly artistic, both in 
its theme and execution. “Hood's various pen,” as Jerrold prettily said, 
“ touched alike the springs of laughter and the sources of tears.” 

Thomas Davis (1814-1845), by his poems! contributed to The Nation, did 
perhaps more than any other man, to “ inspire the strong national feeling 


424 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


that possessed the Irish people in 1813, made O'Connell a true uncrowned 
king, and 


Placed the strength of all the land 
Like a falchion in his hand.” 

The poems of Davis are especially characterized by that fervid passion 
which springs directly from an ardent nature. But he is unequal; some¬ 
times he carries away his reader by the charm and beauty of his verse ; 
sometimes he is weak and unmusical. Father Burke used to mention with 
what startled enthusiasm he, but a boy at the time, would arise from reading 
Davis’s poems. Far-famed Fontenoy, The Rivers, the pathetic Lament for 
the Death of Owen Roe O'Neill , are among his best productions. Davis is 
also the author of Literary and Historical Essays. He was carried off by a 
short illness in 1845. “ I cannot expect,” wrote the great O’Connell, “ to 
look upon his like again, or to see the place he has left vacant adequately 
ft'led up.” 

Frederick, known as Captain, Marry at (1192-1848), availed himself of 
his nautical knowledge to write many sea novels, of which the principal are : 
Peter Simple, Jacob Faithful, Japhet in Search of a Father , Midshipman 
Easy, and The Phantom Ship. A tinge of vulgarity is observable in his 
novels ; and in such as describe American manners, he has comparatively 
failed. 

Miss Maria Edgeworth (1767-1849) rose to great distinction by her tales 
and novels, and works on education. Her novels, so much admired by 
Walter Scott, belong to the moral, though not religious kind, and deserve 
peculiar praise as exhibiting a union of sober sense with inexhaustible in¬ 
vention. 

Miss Jane Porter (1776-1850) is well known as the author of two novels, 
The Scottish Chiefs , and Thaddeus of Warsato, both of which are eagerly 
read by the young who are not yet weaned from the sentimental. 

Richard Lawlor Sheil (1793-1851), besides the celebrity he acquired by 
his political and patriotic speeches, deserves to be remembered in literature 
for his graphic Sketches of the Irish Bar. 

James Montgomery (1771-1854), despite the censures and evil predictions 
of Lord Jeffrey, has continued to occupy public attention, especially by his 
religious poetry. The principal of his larger poems are: The Wanderer in 
Switzerland, The World before the Flood, The Pelican Island. Ilis Lect¬ 
ures on Poetry are not devoid of interest. 

John Wilson (1785-1854), generally known by his pseudonym of Christo¬ 
pher North, was a leading power in the literary world. He studied at Glas¬ 
gow, and afterwards at Oxford, where he gained the reputation of a scholar 
and athlete. Thrown by the loss of his moderate fortune upon the re¬ 
sources of his pen, he accepted the editorship of the lately-founded Black¬ 
wood’s Magazine, and for thirty-five years, with but short interruptions, re¬ 
mained its soul and life. A warm imagination, vivacity, richness of expres¬ 
sion, and a singular freedom from mere conventionality, are the character¬ 
istics of his writings. The more important pieces have been collected under 
the titles of The Critical and Miscellaneous Articles of Christopher North, 
The Recreations of Christopher North, and Nodes Ambrosianoe. The 
Nodes are fictitious conversations, forming an extraordinary combination 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


425 


of verse and prose, description and criticism, seriousness and wild fun. 
From 1820 to 1850, John Wilson occupied also the chair of Moral Philosophy 
in the University of Edinburgh. In his early life, he had composed two 
poems and a drama which are nearly forgotten. 

Samuel Rogers (1763-1855) combined the character of banker with that of 
poet. The Pleasures of Memory , Human Life, and Italy, are his three prin¬ 
cipal poems. The first is his best, and the only one that has been popular. 
Rogers had a classical taste, but lacked the power of imagination which 
makes the great poet. His mansion in St. James's Place, London, became 
famous for the attraction which it offered, and the liberal receptions it gave 
to the best artists and literary characters of the kingdom. He was noted 
for the prompt and substantial assistance which he ever rendered to persons 
in distress. 

Charlotte Bront6 (1816-1855) was the eldest and most distinguished of 
three sisters who rose to high fame as novelists. She wrote Jane Eyre (1818), 
Shirley (18-19), Villetle (1852), and a Biographical Sketch, of her sisters, together 
with a selection of their Literary Remains. Charlotte Bronte is specially 
remarkable for vigor and originality in delineating tragic characters. She 
was married to Rev. Mr. Nicholls, but she is known by her maiden name. 

Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) spent his life in literary activity, principally as a 
journalist, essayist, translator, and poet. The Story of Rimini and The Pal¬ 
frey are his best poems. His Autobiography deserves also a special men¬ 
tion. In both his verse and prose he is picturesque and graceful. 

Thomas De Quincey (1786-1859), with great natural powers of mind and 
scholarly acquirements, made a wreck of his literary career by his inveter¬ 
ate habit of eating opium. He first resorted to that poisonous drug in 1804, 
in order to assuage the pains of rheumatism. At one time he was wont to 
take as much as three hundred and twenty grains a day. After a long 
struggle, he overcame (1820) his besetting habit, but the baleful effects on 
body and mind remained. For want of steadiness, “he never finished any¬ 
thing except his sentences, which are models of elaborate workmanship.” 
His best works are The Confessions of an Opium-eater, Suspiria de Pro¬ 
fund is, the memoirs of Shakespeare and Pope, and his Literary Reminis¬ 
cences, published in the Encyclopaedia Britannica. He is imaginative and 
interesting, but diffuse, digressive, and sentimental. His critical faculty is 
delicate and subtle, but not always reliable ; his admiration of Wordsworth, 
for example, is simply extravagant. De Quincey, so like Coleridge in many 
particulars, had, like him, a rare talent of conversation. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1807-1801), the wife of the poet Rob¬ 
ert Browning, holds a pre-eminent rank among female poets for genius and 
culture of mind. Besides many fugitive pieces, she wrote two large poems, 
Aurora Leigh, an autobiographical narrative in nine books, and Casa Guidi 
Windows, which describes ‘ the impressions of the writer upon events of 
which she was a witness.’ The latter is a fair specimen of the injustice and 
abuse to which well-endowed minds may descend, when they have once sur¬ 
rendered themselves to prejudice and bigotry. All the acrimony of her 
heart is poured upon thd vent-ruble head of the Church, Pio Nono; all her 
sympathies are reserved /or Mazzini. The Sonnets of Mrs. Browning have 
great merit of diction; those called From the Portuguese, which in reality 
are original, appeal to the most delicate and tender feelings of the soul. 
Her poetical Translations from the Greek show an intimate familiarity 
with the original writers. 


426 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Eugene O'Curry (1796-1862) deserves to be mentioned as the prince of 
Irish antiquarians. He did more than any one else to make known the ex¬ 
isting manuscripts of his country’s history. A self-made man, he became a 
perfect master of the ancient language of Erin, and was Professor of Irish 
history and literature in the Catholic University of Dublin from the year 1854 
till his death. The two works which he has left are Lectures on the MS. 
Materials of Irish History , and Lectures on the Social Customs, Manners, 
and Lives of the Ancient Irish. 

Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864) spent his long life in the pursuit of 
literature. He wrote some poems and dramas, but gained his fame by his 
Imaginary Conversations. These comprise classical dialogues, as those of 
Diogenes and Plato, Virgil and Horace; dialogues of sovereigns and states¬ 
men, as those of Wallace and Edward I., Washington and Franklin; dia¬ 
logues of literary men, as those of Steele and Addison, Delille and Walter 
Landor; dialogues of famous women, as that of Anne Boleyn with Henry 
VIII.; and miscellaneous, as that of Pope Pio Nono and Cardinal Antonelli. 
The range of subjects introduced into these dialogues, and the easy famil¬ 
iarity which deals with public and private history of all ages, make these 
Conversations a wonderful and interesting work. The author is sometimes 
betrayed by his religious prejudices, as maybe seen in the dialogue between 
Fra Filippo Lippi and Pope Eugenius IV., which contains absurd and re¬ 
volting slanders against the monks. 

Miss Adelaide Anne Procter (1824-1864), daughter of Barry Cornwall, 
has been a favorite with all lovers of chaste, refined, and sweet poetry. Her 
poems appeared under the title of Legends and Lyrics, and A Chaplet of 
Verses. She did not disguise the Catholic faith, to which she had become a 
convert in 1851; but, unaffectedly, made her verse echo the sentiments of 
piety which animated her life. As instances of her spirit, we may refer to' 
such Christian poems as The Peace of God , Ministering Angels, Thankfid- 
ness, Our Titles , Incompleteness, Links with Heaven, and her many hymns 
to the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

Frail in health all her lifetime, and confined to her bed during her last 
fifteen months, she ever remained patienf, resigned, and even cheerful. 
Her fame, far from fading since her death, has been growing with the de¬ 
crease of anti-Catholic prejudices in England and the United States. 

Sir William Napier (1785-1866), a native of Ireland, is the author of an 
accurate and graphic History of the Peninsular War. 

John Keble (1792-1866), a man of superior talents and winning disposition, 
had a large share in the Tractarian movement with Newman and Pusey. 
He is principally known as the author of The Christian Year. This is a 
collection of 109 religious poems, adapted to the liturgical services of the 
year. The tone of reverence, even of piety, which is expressed in these 
poems, loses its significance when breathed forth by an Anglican clergyman, 
whose Church repudiates the doctrines which he professes in her name, as, 
for instance, when he speaks of ‘holy communion,’ ‘the dread altar,’ and 
the Creator becoming the ‘bread of man,’ or of the minister’s ‘gracious arm 
stretched out to bless.’ John Keble, less fortunate than Cardinal Newman, 
never reached the goal, but died in the Via Media. 

Sir Archibald Alison (1792-1867) has fairly gained a high reputation in 
the field of history. He devoted thirty years to the preparation and compo¬ 
sition of his great work, The History of Europe, from the Commencement of 
the French Revolution to the Restoration of the Bourbons, afterwards con- 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD 


427 


tinued till the year 1852. His Life of the Duke of Marlborough is intended 
as an introduction to the History. Alison's account of events is minute, and 
generally impartial; but he is far from doing justice to the Irish people and 
the Catholic religion. His reflections, at one time strikingly true, are, at 
another, utterly false. The general style is not attractive, the sentences are 
cumbrous, unwieldy, and not unfrequently slovenly and obscure. Alison 
wrote also some treatises on law, which are standard authorities in Scotland. 
His numerous political and historical essays, contributed to Blackwood’s 
Magazine, have been republished in three volumes; they lack the vivacity of 
style expected in this kind of composition. As an acknowledgment of his 
literary merit, Alison was, in 1852, created baronet. 

Bryan Waller Procter (1790-1868), known as ‘ Barry Cornwall,’ deserves 
to be mentioned as a poet of distinguished merit. He was a barrister by 
profession, and possessed ample means from inheritance and lucrative 
appointments. His best work, Dramatic Scenes, of which the larger portion 
appeared as early as 18.20, was a successful attempt to imitate the best feat¬ 
ures of the Elizabethan drama. His other publications are: A Sicilian 
Story, and Other Poems ; Marcian Colonna, a tale; Mirandola, a tragedy, 
which was acted in London with great success; The Flood of Thessaly ; The 
Girl of Provence , and Other Poems ; Portraits of the English Poets; Essays 
and Tales in Prose ; Life of Edmund Keane ; Memoir of Charles Lamb. 

Samuel Lover (1797-1868), a native of Dublin, wrote songs and novels of 
Irish life, celebrated for their broad fun. His best novels are: Rory 
O'Moore, Handy Andy , and Treasure Trove. 

William Carleton (1798-1869) was a native of Ireland and a popular writer 
of Irish tales. His chief works are Traits and Stories of the Irish Peas¬ 
antry, Fardorougha , the Miser, Valentine McClutchy, and Willy Redly. 

Charles Lever (1806-1870), at first a successful practitioner of mediuine, 
is far better known as one of the best and most popular novelists of this 
century. With a dashing style and incomparable wit and humor, he has 
delineated the funny side of Irish life and character. His principal works 
are Harry Lorrequer, Arthur O'Leary , Charles O'Malley , Jack Hinton, Tom 
Burke, Maurice Tierney. Lever was for many years editor of the Dublin 
University Magazine and a contributor to Blackwood. 

George Grote (1794-1871), amidst the affairs of a banking-house, found 
leisure to write one of the most learned and reliable histories of this century. 
Without a University education, he made himself master not only of the 
Greek language, but Greek manners, literature, and philosophy. He com¬ 
pleted, in 1856, The History of Greece , from the Earliest Period to the Death 
of Alexander the Great, a work in twelve volumes, which obtained for him 
the title of the historian of Greece. His sympathies are on the side of Athe¬ 
nian democracy. In 1865, he published another remarkable work on Plato 
and the other Companions of Socrates. At the time of his death he was en¬ 
gaged upon a similar work on Aristotle. 

Miss Harriet Martineau (1802-1876) gained considerable celebrity by her 
varied writings. Chief among them are Deerbrook, and The Hour and the 
Man, two novels; The History of the Thirty Years' Peace (1815-1846); and 
Society in America. To magazines she contributed many papers on politi¬ 
cal economy. Her style is pleasing, but her statements are not always accu¬ 
rate. In religious matters, above all, she is not to be trusted; her corre¬ 
spondence proves her a decided atheist. 


428 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


Kenelm Digby (1800-1880), of an ancient ancl highly-connected family, was 
educated at Cambridge University, where he was graduated in 1823. About 
that time or soon after, he became a convert to the Catholic Church. The 
remainder of his life was spent in retirement, in study and literary composi¬ 
tions. His numerous books are remarkable for their vast erudition, lofty 
aim, and Christian spirit; but, notwithstanding these substantial qualities, 
they are not attractive, for want of method, of unity, lucidity, and airiness 
of style. The earliest of Digby's works was The Broad Stone of Honor , in 
which he treats of the origin, spirit, and practices of Christian chivalry. In 
1831, he published Mores Catholici or the Ages of Faith. This is a compre¬ 
hensive study of the habits of faith in mediaeval times—the largest repertory 
of connected facts that can be found on this subject. A portion of the work 
has been re-edited in America in two volumes. The Compitum is another 
extensive work, which shows that the various circumstances of man's life, 
the family, the school, the various trades and professions, the various situa¬ 
tions in society, the various moods of mind—all should be roads leading to a 
common centre, the Catholic Church. The Evenings on the Thames are 
lucubrations on literary and moral subjects, which have little to do with the 
London River. We may mention also The Lovers' Seat, Children's Bower , 
The Temple of Memory , and two or three books of poetry not above the 
average. 

Kenelm Digby died in the fervent profession of that faith which he had 
toiled so earnestly to promote. 

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl Beaconslield (1805-1881), amidst the turmoil of 
his political life, found leisure to compose many works, most of which 
are fiction. To speak only of a few, we may name Vivian Grey, The Young 
Duke, Voyage of Captain PopaniUa, Alroy, Lothair, and Endymion. They 
show great powers, but are sensational and more or less tainted with im¬ 
morality. The publication of Lothair and Endymion produced much ex¬ 
citement, from the fact that under a thin disguise they portrayed living 
characters of the highest society in England. 

Denis Florence MacCarthy (1818-1882) was a Catholic poet, distinguished 
for the grace, the tenderness, and religious tone of his verse. With Davis, 
McGee, O’Hagan, and Duffy, he contributed many articles to the Nation at 
its origin. He was highly appreciated by O’Connell, for whom in return he 
professed a profound admiration. Florence MacCarthy excelled in lyric 
poetry, and had for composition a facility rarely surpassed. His original 
works appeared under the following titles: Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics ; Bell 
Founder; Under Glimpses, and other Poems; Shelley's Early Life ; Cente¬ 
nary Odes on O’Connell in 1875, and on More in 1879. On the latter occasion, he 
was publicly crowned by the Lord Mayor of Dublin as Poet Laureate of Ire¬ 
land. We have not yet named the most solid ground of his fame, his trans¬ 
lations from Calderon, the “Spanish Shakespeare,’ fifteen of whose dramas 
he rendered into assonant English lines, ‘ the largest amount of translated 
verse by any one author that has ever appeared in English.’ It cost the Irish 
poet hard toil during the best portion of his life, but it was a labor of love. 

Denis Florence MacCarthy was of a genial, amiable, but retiring disposi¬ 
tion. The readiness of his wit, and ‘his playful sense of humor, ever keen 
without bitterness,’left the most favorable impression even on casual ac¬ 
quaintances. In his last moments ‘ he was consoled by the ministrations of 
that faith which inspired his genius and shaped his whole life.’ 


THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


429 


Pantf. Gabriel Rossetti, born in London in 1828, was a distinguished 
poet and painter. His poetical works embrace The Early Italian Poets, trans¬ 
lations which reappeared under tbe title of Dante and his Circle, Poems, the 
principal of which was The Blessed Damozel, and Ballads and Sonnets. “ As 
an Italian translator Rossetti is unsurpassed.”* His own poems are imag¬ 
inative and artistic. We subjoin the first lines of his Ave to Mary: 

Mother of the Fair Delight, 

Thou handmaid perfect in God’s sight, 

Now sitting fourth beside the Three, 

Thyself a woman—Trinity,— 

Being a daughter borne to God, 

Mother of Christ from stall to rood, 

And wife unto the Holy Ghost:— 

Oh, when our need is uttermost, 

Think that to such as death may strike 
Thou once wert sister sisterlike! 

Thou headstone of humanity, 

Groundstone of the great Mystery, 

Fashioned like us, yet more than we. 

Christina Georgina Rossetti (b. 1830- ), who has also published several 

remarkable volumes of verse and prose, is the sister of Dante G. Rossetti. 

Lady Georgiana Fullerton (1814-1885), a daughter of Earl Granville, and 
wife of Captain Alexander Fullerton, held a high rank among the novelists 
of her day. Ellen Middleton, published in 1844, and Grantley Manor were 
her first works. After her conversion to the Catholic faith (about 184(3), she 
wrote Lady-Bird , a narrative of her religious struggles. Constance Sher¬ 
wood, her most esteemed novel, describes, in the form of an autobiography 
and a somewhat archaic style, the sufferings of the Catholics under Eliza¬ 
beth. Too Strange not to be True, A Stormy Life, and Mrs. Gerald's 
Niece, are the chief of her works not already mentioned. Her pen was con¬ 
stantly employed in the promotion of works of charity and edification. 

Sir Henry Taylor (1800-1888), an English dramatist and essayist, wrote 
one of the best plays of this century, Philip van Artcvelde. Among his prose 
works the most notable are The Statesman, Notes from Life, Notes from Books, 
The Ways of the Rich and Great. 

Matthew Arnold (1822-1888), the eldest son of the famous headmaster of 
Rugby, was a good poet and a remarkable critic, but he unfortunately 
drifted to the negation of Christianity, of all revelation, and of a personal 
God. “ As there is not,” he says, “even a degree of probability that God in 
the old sense exists, let us do all that we can do with streams of tendency, 
and morality touched with emotion, to supply his place.” Such was the 
reactionary attitude of the new leader of Oxford after the Traetarian Move¬ 
ment and the departure of Newman. Arnold was educated at Winchester, 
Rugby, and Oxford, and was elected Fellow of Oriel College. During two 
terms of five years (1857-18G7) he held the chair of Poetry—a branch to which 
his lectures gave greater importance. In his opinion, “poetry supplies the 
place of religion, which is only a divine illusion.” During many years 
of his life Arnold filled the office of school inspector, and made great efforts 


* Steadman. 




430 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


to raise the middle classes of English society from the slough of traditional 
ignorance and moral obtuseness which he stigmatized as philistinism. The 
poems of Matthew Arnold were published in three volumes. The most 
noted pieces are The Scholar-gypsy, in which are recalled the pleasant days 
of the Oxford undergraduate ; Thyrsis, an elegiac tribute to the memory of 
his intimate friend Arthur Hugh Clough; Sohrab and Rustum and The Sick 
King of Bokhara, narrative poems of the East; Empedocles on AElna, a dra¬ 
matic poem ; Rugby Chapel, in which he recalls the noble work of his father; 
Dover Beach; and The Grande Chartreuse. He published also Merope, a trag¬ 
edy of the classical school, which obtained an indifferent success. The 
principal of his prose works are Essays in Criticism; Lectures on Translating 
llomer; Study of Celtic Literature; Literature and Dogma; God and the Bible ; 
Last Essays on Church and Religion; Culture and Anarchy; St. Paul and 
Protestantism ; Mixed Essays; American Lectures; and Civilization in the United 
States. In this last “ he severely criticizes American habits, manners, lit¬ 
erature, morals, and general want of interest to the traveller.” While many 
of Matthew Arnold’s prose compositions are subtle defences of infidelity 
and agnosticism, his poems are comparatively free from such aim. 

Robert Browning (1812-1889) is the most metaphysical poet of this cen¬ 
tury. He was born in London, and educated by private teachers under the 
eye of his father, himself a man of cultivated taste. To prepare for a literary 
career, the son travelled extensively abroad, and finally settled in Italy, 
paying at {intervals long visits to London. In 1S4G he married Elizabeth 
Barrett, better known in the world of letters as Mrs. Browning, whom he 
survived twenty-eight years. The published work of Browning extends 
over twenty volumes, from Pauline, in 1833, to Assolando, which was an¬ 
nounced on the day of his death. The longest of his poems, and that which 
contributed most to his literary fame, is The Ring and the Book (1868-69), con¬ 
taining twenty thousand lines in blank verse. Paracelsus (1835), Strafford 
(1837), A Blot in the 'Scutcheon (1843), and Colombe's Birthday, are the chief 
dramas of Browning. None of them has kept the stage. Sordello (1840), the 
story of a soul, in six thousand lines, is by common consent the most obscure 
of his poems. Tennyson, it is said, found but two intelligible lines in it, 
and these not true, viz., the first and the last: 

Who will may hear Sordello's story told. 

Who would lias heard Sordello's story told. 

The most popular pieces of Browning are The Pied Piper of Hamelin, How 
they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, The Lost Leader, Saul, The Glove. 
Christmas Eve and Easter Day perhaps reveal more positive religious opinions 
than do any others of his poems, but we are not sure that the sentiments ex¬ 
pressed are his own. Nothing is more striking than the description he gives 
of the consecration at the midnight Mass in St. Peter’s: 


I. the sinner that speak to you. 

Was in Rome this night, and stood, and 
knew 

Both this and more. For see, for see, 

The daik is rent, mine eye is free 
To pierce the crust of the outer wall. 

And I view inside, and all there, all. 

As the swarming hollow of a hive. 

The whole Basilica alive 1 

Men in the chancel, body, and nave. 

Men on the pillars' architrave, 

Men on the statues, men on the tombs. 
With popes and kings in their porphyry 
wombs, 


All famishing in expectation 
Of the main altar's consummation. 

For see, for see, the rapturous moment 
Approaches, and earth’s best endowment 
Blends with Heaven's ; the taper-fires 
Pant up, the winding brazen spires 
Heave loftier yet the baldachin ; 

The incense-gaspings long kept in. 
Suspire in clouds; the organ blatant 
Holds his breath and grovels latent. 

As if God's hushing finger grazed him 
(Like Behemoth when He praised him). 
At the silver bell’s shrill tinkling. 

Quick cold drops of terror sprinkling 



THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


431 


On the sudden pavement strewed 
With faces of the multitude. 

Earth breaks up, time drops away,' 

In tiows Heaven, with its new day 
Of endless life, when He who trod, 

Very man and very God, 

This earth in weakness, shame, and pain. 
Dying the death whose signs remain 


Up yonder on the accursed tree,— 

Shall come again, no more to be 
Of captivity the thrall, 

But the one God, All in all. 

King of kings. Lord of lords, 

As his servant John received the words, 
“ 1 died, and live forevermore 1 ' 


La Saisiaz, the name of a villa, contains Browning’s arguments for the im¬ 
mortality of the soul. He is a strong defender of theism, but seems to have 
been undecided about Christianity. Strange as it may seem, it is neverthe¬ 
less a fact that the poet, in spite of his long residence in Italy, fails to repre¬ 
sent the true Catholic character. “ I am compelled to remark,” says Dr. Wil¬ 
liam Barry, “ that I have never come across a Catholic who, even distantly, 
resembled the figures in the crowds of painters, priests, bishops, peasant- 
girls, and indigenous Italian women filling the long gallery of portraits de¬ 
voted to a religion of which Robert Browning must have had living exam¬ 
ples before him for years together.” * 

It is impossible to determine the niche which Browning is destined perma¬ 
nently to occupy in the temple of Fame. Many critics would rank him next 
to Tennyson, others, more enthusiastic, reckon him the greatest poet that 
England has produced since Shakespeare, while not a few contend that his 
art is so deficient as almost to exclude him from the circle of poets. He is 
certainly very obscure, rugged, redundant, unmusical, but original, strong, 
and earnest. When he studies the development of a soul, he forgets that 
the soul must be painted intelligibly to the eye, that the forms of things 
unknown must be distinctly hodiecl forth, and that the poet's pen must turn 
them to visible shape. “Verse and diction are the bodily organism of 
poetry. This body ought to be soft, bright, lovely, Carrying with it an influ¬ 
ence and impression of delightfulness. Defects in poetical organism are 
inimical to the enduring life of poetry.” f 

Lady Herbert of Lea (1822- ), who is connected with the highest 

nobility in England, has been indefatigable in the composition of useful and 
edifying books. Some of them are original, as Cradle Lands ; Impressions 
of Spain; A Search after Sunshine; Love, or Self-Sacrifice; Wayside 
Tales ; Geronimo ; Anglican Prejudice ; Montana ; Three Phases of Chris¬ 
tian Love ; Life of St. Monica ; The Mission of St. Francis of Sales in the 
Cliablais. Many more are translations or adaptations from the French and 
the Italian, as Hiibner’s Round the World, Twenty-five Years of Lamartine’s 
Life and Memoirs of his Mother, Life of Theophane Venard, Life of Dom 
Barth61emy des Martyrs. She has also been a constant contributor to vari¬ 
ous periodicals. Her writings not only breathe a spirit of piety, but are dis¬ 
tinguished by elegance and freshness of style. 

Coventry Patmore (1823- ) is a Catholic poet of considerable merit 

and a distinguished writer of critical essays. From 1846 to 1868 he was an 
assistant librarian at the British Museum. He then bought a large estate in 
Sussex, and subsequently removed to Hastings, where he has built a large 
Catholic church. He is the author of Tamertown Church-Tower, and Other 
Poems (1853); The Angel in the House, The Betrothal (1854); The Espousals, Faith¬ 
ful for Ever (1860); The Victories of Love (1863); Odes (1868); The Unknown Eros, 


* In London Tablet, Dec. 21, 1889. 
f Memoirs and Letters of Sarah Coleridge, Harper edit., p. 517. 






432 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


and other Odes (1877). Of The Angel in the House, Ruskin says that it “is 
a most finished piece of writing, and the sweetest analysis we possess of 
quiet, modern domestic feeling.” Another critic* justly speaks of The Un¬ 
known Eros “ with its extraordinary subtlety of thought and emotion, ren¬ 
dered with the faultless simplicity of an elaborate and conscious art. ’ He 
has published two volumes of essays, Principle in Art, etc. (1889), and Rehgio 
Poetx, etc. (1893). They are written “ in the prose of a poet.” 

William Morris (1831- ) is essentially a nariative poet, whose avowed 

master and model is Geoffrey Chaucer. Ilis first volume. The Defence of 
Guenevere and Other Poems (1858), was followed, after years, by a higher per¬ 
formance’ The Life and Death of Jason. This is “a narrative poem of epic 
proportions, all story and action, composed in the rhymed pentameter, 
strongly and sweetly carried from the first book to the last ot seventeen, f 
The powers of Morris were exhibited to still greater advantage in The 
Earthly Paradise (1868). a repertory of tales, ballads, and romances gathered 
from ancient and mediaeval times, from Greek, Roman, and German legends. 
The Prologue contains 2700 lines, the whole work 40,000. Most ot the stories, 
however, “are of a length that can be read at a sitting. The other pro¬ 
ductions of Morris are The Story of Sigurd the l olsung , 1 he Fall oj the Niblungs 
(1870); Love is Enough: a Morality (1S73): The /Enekl of Virgil done into Eng¬ 
lish Verse, and also the Odyssey (1876); Hopes and Fears for Art (1882); Aims 
of Art (1887); Signs of Change (1888); The Roots of the Mountains (1889); and 
The Tale of the House of the Wolfings (1890). an epic in verse and prose. 

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1843- ) is, since the death of Tenny¬ 

son, the most eminent English poet. His excellence lies more in the rhyth¬ 
mical beauty of his verse and the wonderful marshalling of his words than 
in the higher regions of poetry. Morally, he offends us at one time by his 
extreme sensuousness, at another by his eulogy of such men as Safli, the 
Italian triumvir of 1819, and Giordano Bruno, the apostate monk and pan¬ 
theistic philosopher. Swinburne was educated partly in France, partly in 
England, and equally mastered the language of each country. His poetical 
productions are principally lyrical and dramatic. We give a list of his most 
remarkable works : The Queen Mother and Rosamund (1860); Atalanta in Caly- 
don (1865), a tragedy constructed according to the rules of the classical 
school; Chastelar (1865), Botliwell (1874), and Mary Stuart (1881), three dramas 
bearing on the same Scottish period; Poems and Ballads (1866); Second 
Series (1878), Third Series (1889); A Song of Italy (1867); Ode on the French. Re¬ 
public (1870); Erectheus (1876), a tragedy on the Greek model; Songs Before 
Sunrise (1871) and Songs of the Spring-Tides (1880); A Century of Roundels 
(1883); Marino Faliero, a drama (1885); Locrine (1887), a tragedy ; A Study of 
Ben Jonson (1889); Astrophel, and Other Poems (1891). We subjoin a few lines 
from Erectheus, which for richness of rhythm and strength of expression 
can be compared with the most happy strains in the language: 

Mine ears are amazed with the terror of trumpets, with darkness mine eyes, 
At the sound of the sea's host charging that deafens the roar of the sky’s. 
White frontlet is dashed upon frontlet, and horse against horse reels hurled, 
And the gorge of the gulfs of the battle is wide for the spoil of the world. 


* Athenceum, Dec. 20,1893. 
f Steadman, Victorian Poets, p. 370. 





THE MODERN ENGLISH PERIOD. 


433 


And the meadows are cumbered with shipwreck of chariots that founder on 
land 

And the horsemen are broken with breach as of breakers, and scattered as 
sand. 

Through the roar and recoil of the chargers that mingle their cries and con¬ 
found, 

Like fire are the notes of the trumpets that flash through the darkness of 
sound. 

As the swing of the sea churned yellow that sways with the wind as it swells 
Is the lift and relapse of the wave of the chargers that clash with their bells; 
And the clang of the sharp shrill brass through the burst of the wave as it 
shocks, 

Rings clean as the clear wind’s cry through the roar of the surge on the 
rocks; 

And the heads of the steeds in their headgear of war, and their corsleted 
breasts, 

Gleam broad as the brows of the billows that brighten the storm with their 
crests, 

Gleam dread as their bosoms that heave to the shipwrecking wind as they 
rise, 

Filled full of the terror and thunder of water, that slays as it dies. 

Of the throng of living novelists, the two most conspic¬ 
uous are perhaps Robert Louis Stevenson and Rudyard 
Kipling. Stevenson was horn in Scotland in 1850. He 
belongs to a family of engineers in the lighthouse service, 
and he too was intended for an engineer, but he failed to 
achieve success in that profession, became a lawyer, but did 
not practice. He finally found his vocation in literature. 
He has produced some twenty volumes of fascinating stories, 
among which Treasure Island, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll 
and Mr. Hyde, Kidnapped, and David, Balfour appear to 
be the most remarkable. “ At his best he is comparable 
with only one novelist, and that one the greatest of all— 
Walter Scott/’savs the “ Athenaeum.” He has also pub¬ 
lished poems : Underwoods, An Inland Voyage, Travels with 
a Donkey in the Cevennes, The Merry Men, Memoir of Flem¬ 
ing Jenkin, and A Child's Garden of Verses. For several 
years Stevenson has been living in the South Sea Islands. 
Rudyard Kipling is the reigning king of short-storytellers. 
Born and educated in India, he no sooner appeared in print 
28 


434 


BRITISH LITERATURE. 


than the freshness of his stories and the quaintness of his 
style won the attention of the English-speaking world. 
The titles of his most noted volumes are Life's Handicap, 
Plain Tales from the Hills, and The Light that Failed. 


PART II. 

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


FIRST PERIOD. 

The Colonial Era, 1607-1761. 

(From the Colonization of Virginia to the Speech of Otis.) 

Character of the Period—The first Book p ublished in British 
America—George Sandy»—Roger Williams—Michael Wiggles- 
worth—James Logan—Cadwallader Golden . 

The intellect of this period manifested itself chiefly 
in religious disputations among the various sects of 
Protestantism. The New England Puritan school 
was prominent for the number of its writings and the 
narrowness of its ideas. Its partisans despised litera¬ 
ture and the arts as useless, if not tending to debase 
manners and create a false polish. The most noted 
names among them were those of Cotton, Wiggles- 
wortli. Hooker, the Mathers, and Jonathan Edwards. 
The beginnings of our literature are marked by rude¬ 
ness of diction and a servile imitation of English mod¬ 
els. The metrical compositions are, for the most part, 
formal, pedantic, and quaint. Many turned their 
hand to poetry ‘ invita Minervft ; 9 and the best praise 
that can be awarded to American verses, before the har¬ 
monies of Dryden and Pope were known, is that they 
were * ingeniously grotesque/ The poetry, however, of 
George Sandys, if he can be claimed as an American 
poet, is not liable to this faint commendation. Ac- 

435 



43G 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


cording to James Montgomery, his version of the 
Psalms of David is f incomparably the most poetical 
in the English language, and yet, at the present day, 
scarcely known/ 

The intolerance of which Catholics were the victims 
in the Colonial times, not only prevented the existence 
of a literature congenial to their taste, but did not 
even allow the reprinting of their Bible or any other 
religious book. We have, however, from the pen of 
Catholic missioners, important contributions to the 
early history of America; but these works were 
neither composed in English, nor published on this 
side of the Atlantic. Of this kind are the histories of 
Lafitau and Charlevoix, the French Relations of the 
Jesuits, and White’s Latin Narrative of the Voyage 
and Settlement of the Maryland Pilgrims. The only 
English work published by a Catholic in the Colonies, 
previous to 1760, is the small poem of Father Lewis on 
his Journey from Patapsco to Annapolis. 

THE FIRST BOOK PUBLISHED IN AMERICA. 

The first book published in British America, accord¬ 
ing to Griswold, was The Psalms in Metre, faithfully 
translated for the Use, Edification, and Comfort of the 
Saints, in Public and Private, especially in New Eng¬ 
land, printed at Cambridge, in 1640. The translators 
seem to have been aware that “the verses were not 
always so smooth and elegant as some might desire and 
expect.” The following specimen is from the second 
edition: 

PSALM CXXXVII. 

The rivers on of Babilon 
There when wee did sit downe, 

Yea, even then, wee mourned when 
Wee remembered Sion. 


THE COLONIAL ERA. 


437 


Our liarp wee did hang it amid, 

Upon the willow tree, 

Because there they that us away 
Led in captivitee, 

Kequired of us a song, and thus 
Askt mirth us waste who laid, 

Sing us among a Sion’s song, 

Unto us then they said. 

The first newspaper published in America, was the 
Boston Weekly Newsletter. The first number was is¬ 
sued on the 24th of April,. 1704 ; and the first sheet 
printed was taken damp from the press by Chief Jus¬ 
tice Sewell, to exhibit as a curiosity to President Vil- 
lard of Harvard University. The Newsletter was con¬ 
tinued seventy-two years. Only one complete copy of 
it is preserved. 


George Sandys, 1577-1643. 

“ The first English literary production penned in America,” says Duyc- 
kinck, “ at least which has any rank or name in the general history of liter, 
ature, is the translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, by George Sandys, printed 
in folio in London, in 1626.” This early American writer was a son of the 
Anglican Archbishop of that name, and w r as born in England, in 1577. In the 
Colony of Virginia he held the post of Treasurer; and it was on the banks of 
the James River, as he informs us in his dedication of the work to King 
Charles I., that his poem ‘ was limned by that imperfect light which was 
snatched from the hours of night and repose.’ Bancroft says of him: “ His 
verse was tolerated by Dry den and praised by Izaak Walton.” Michael Dray¬ 
ton, author of the Polyolbion, addressed to him an epistle in which he says: 

“ My worthy George, by industry and use, 

Let's see what Virginia can produce; 

Go on with Ovid, as you have begun 
With the first five books: let your numbers run 
Glib as the former: so it shall live long 
And do much honor to the English tongue.” 

Like Sir John Mandeville, the first English prose writer, Sandys was a dis¬ 
tinguished traveller, and his book on the countries of the Mediterranean and 
the Holy Land enjoyed great popularity. It is said that Addison, in the his¬ 
tory of his Italian tour, took Sandys as his model. Sandys seems to have 
been one of the first to quote the allusions of the ancient poets to the places 
through which he passed, a plan so successfully adopted by Dodwell in his 
Classical Tour through Greece, and by Eustace in his Classical Tour through 
Italy. 


438 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


We may quote a few lines from his Ovid, as a pleasing memorial of liis 
classic labors in the Colony of Virginia. 

The Golden Age was first; which uncompekl, 

And without rule, in faith and truth exceld, 

As then, there was nor punishment nor fear: 

Nor tlireatning laws in brass prescribed were; 

Nor suppliant crouching prisoners shook to see 
Their augrie judge. 

In firm content 

And harmless ease their happy days were spent, 

Theyet-free Earth did of her own accord 
(Untorn with ploughs) all sorts of fruit affoi’d. 

Content with nature's unenforced food, 

They gather wildings, stnyvb’ries of the wood, 

Sour cornels, what upon the bramble grows, 

And acorns which Jove’s spreading oak bestows. 

’Twas always Spring; warm Zephyrus sweetly blew 
On smiling flowers, which without setting grew. 

Forthwith the earth, corn unmanured bears; 

And every year renews her golden ears: 

With milk and nectar were the rivers filled; 

And yellow honey from gi’een elms distilled. 

Roger Williams, 1G06-1GS3. 

After the illustrious founder of Maryland, Sir George Calvei’t, who in the 
words of Banci’oft, ‘ was the fii*st to plan the establishment of popular insti¬ 
tutions with .the enjoyment of liberty of conscience, 1 the name of Roger 
Williams holds the most distinguished rank among the champions of civil 
and religious liberty in this country. Both were educated at Oxford; both 
crossed the Atlantic for conscience 1 sake; both maintained the equality be¬ 
fore the law of religious rights; both succeeded in obtaining charters of in- 
corporation in which their liberal views were embodied, Calvert for Max*y- 
land in 1632, Williams for Providence Plantations in 1644.* 

Very few incidents of his life are to be collected from his writings; and the 
prejudices of contemporary and even later historians who have mentioned 


* The clause in the Charter of Rhode Island l'especting religious fi'eedom, 
is in the following bi*oad terxxxs: “ No person shall at any time hereafter be 
anyways called in question for any difference of opinion in matters of re¬ 
ligion.” The exception, however, of Roman Catholics, which Bancroft sup¬ 
poses was subsequently made by committees that revised the laws, is a blot 
upon the escutcheon of the State. Nor is the excuse of the histoi'ian either 
very plausible or satisfactory. “ The exception,” he says. “ was not the act of 
the people of Rhode Island; nor do the public recoi'ds indicate what com¬ 
mittee of revisal made the alteration, for which the occasion grew out of 
English politics. The exception was harmless (?); for there wei-e xxo Roman 
Catholics in the Colony. When, in the war for independence, French ships 
arrived in the harbors of Rhode Island, the inconsistent exception was im¬ 
mediately erased by the Legislature.”—Vol. 2, p. 65. 




THE COLONIAL ERA. 


439 


him, render it difficult to form a true estimate of his character. He appears 
to have been a man of unblemished morals, and not to be diverted, either by 
threats or flattery, from what he believed to be duty. He was at all times 
the fearless advocate of religious freedom; and, strange as it may seem, this 
was probably the first thing that excited against him the persecuting spirit 
of the Massachusetts and Plymouth rulers. Banished from Salem in the 
depth of winter in 1636, he found hospitality among the neighboring Indi¬ 
ans. In the following June, the lawgiver of Rhode Island embarked on 
a frail Indian canoe with, his five companions, and landed near a place 
which was called by him Providence, in order to express his unbroken con 
fidence in the mercies of God. “ I desired,” said he, “ it might be for a shel¬ 
ter for persons distressed for conscience.” 

Of the publications of Williams that have reached us, the first, in order of 
time, is his Key into the Language of America , printed in London in 1643, 
and reprinted in Boston in 1827. “ A little key,” he says, “ may open a box 
where lies a bunch of keys.” The book is a series of thirty-two chapters, 
each containing a vocabulary, with occasional observations at a suggestive 
word, relating to manners or notions; and concluding with a set of verses. 

In 1683, in the seventy-eighth year of his age, the founder of Rhode Island, 
the friend of peace and assertor of liberty, died at Providence, on the spot 
which his genius and labors had consecrated. 

Michael Wiggles worth, 1631-1705. 

Michael Wigglesworth was, in his day, one of the most successful of our 
verse-writers. He was born about 1631. On completing his studies at Har¬ 
vard, he was appointed Tutor in the College; but he soon removed to Mal¬ 
den, where, for nearly fifty years, he exercised the functions of the ministry 
Being of a delicate constitution, he had frequent attacks of illness from an 
affection of the lungs, which made him occasionally suspend his pulpit exer¬ 
tions. During these intervals, he composed his Day of Doom , a poetical 
description of the last judgment. It passed through six editions in this 
country, and was reprinted in London. He is also the author of a poem en¬ 
titled Meat out of the Eater , or Meditations concerning the Necessity , End, 
and Usefulness of Afflictions. It is divided into a number of sections of 
some ten or twelve eight-line stanzas each. The style is in general quaint 
and harsh. 

The latter work is followed by a collection of verses, from which we quote 
the contents, printed on the back of the title-page: 

RIDDLES UNRIDDLED; OR, CHRISTIAN PARADOXES. 

Light in Darkness, 

Sick men’s Health, 

Strength in Weakness, 

Poor men’s Wealth, 

In confinement 
Liberty, 

In solitude 
Good company. 


440 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Joy in sorrow, 

Life in Death's 
Heavenly Crowns for 
Thorny Wreaths 
Are presented to thy view 
In the Poems that ensue. 

A few verses from the Meat out of the Eater will show the best manner of 
this early poet: 

Soldier, be strong, who tightest 
Under a Captain stout; 

Dishonor not thy conquering Head 
By basely giving out. 

Endure awhile, bear up, 

And hope for better things; 

War ends in peace, and morning light 
Mounts upon midnight’s wings. 

Wigglesworth lived to the good old age of seventy-four, dying in the year 
1705. Cotton Mather wrote his funeral sermon, and the following 

EPITAPH. 

“ The excellent Wigglesworth remembered by some good tokens. 

His pen did once meat from the eater fetch, 

And now he’s gone beyond the eater’s reach 
His body once so thin, was next to none; 

From hence, he’s to embodied spirits flown; 

Once his rare skill did all diseases heal, 

And he does nothing now uneasy feel. 

He to his paradise is joyful come, 

And waits with joy to see his day of Doom.” 

James Logan, 1074-1751. 

James Logan, founder of the Loganian Library in Philadelphia, was dis¬ 
tinguished for his liter-ary and scientific accomplishments and writings. He 
was born at Lurgan, in Ireland, of Scottish parents. He was engaged in the 
trade between Dublin and Bristol, when he determined to accompany Will¬ 
iam Penn to Pennsylvania. He was afterwards invested with many impor¬ 
tant offices, which he discharged with fidelity and judgment. He spent the 
latter part of his life at Stanton, his country-seat, near Germantown, in the 
enjoyment of his library, the composition of his works, and correspondence 
with the learned of foreign countries. He was “ master of the Greek, Latin, 
French, and German languages, and was well acquainted with mathematics, 
natural and moral philosophy, and natural history.” 

He published an excellent translation of Cicero’s De Senectute, with exten 
sive familiar notes; also, A Translation of Cato's Distichs into English 
Verse. His Experimenta et Meletemata de Plantarum generatione, written 
in 1739, entitles its author to be ranked among the earliest improvers of 
botany. He left in manuscript A Defence of Aristotle and the Ancient Phi 
losophers ; Essays on Languages and the Antiquities of the British Isles. 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


441 


Logan was a man of uncommon natural and acquired abilities; of great 
wisdom, moderation, and prudence; well acquainted with the world and 
mankind as with books; of unblemished morals, and inflexible integrity. 
He died at Stanton in 1751, having just completed his 77th year. 

Cadwallader Golden, 1688-1776. 

C. Colden, for fifteen years lieutenant-governor of New York and the 
earliest author of note in that city, was a Scotchman by birth. He was pre¬ 
pared by the private instructions of his father for the University of Edin¬ 
burgh, where he was graduated in 1705. After three years devoted to med¬ 
ical studies, he emigrated to America, and practised medicine with greal. 
success in Philadelphia. In 1718, he settled in New York, where he aban¬ 
doned his profession for the service of the state. He filled the office of lieu¬ 
tenant-governor from the year 1760 until his death, in 1776. 

The work for which Colden deserves a place in American literature is a 
History of the Five Indian Nations, which has passed through several edi¬ 
tions. It gives an account of the intercourse between the Aborigines and 
the Europeans, from the settlement of the country to the period of publica¬ 
tion, in 1727. Besides a philosophical treatise, The Principles of Action in 
Matter, he wrote numerous botanical and medical essays. He also main¬ 
tained an active correspondence with Linnaeus and other leading scientific 
men of Europe and America. Bancroft, in the preface to the sixth volume 
of his History, acknowledges his especial indebtedness to ‘ the manuscript of 
Lieutenant-Governor Colden, covering a period in New York history of 
nearly a quarter of a century.’ 


SECOND PERIOD. 

The Revolutionary Period, 1761-1800. 

(From the Speech of Otis to the end of the Century.) 

The Literary Character of the Period—James Otis—Benjamin 
Franklin—Francis Hopkinson—Jeremy Belknap—Alexander 
Hamilton — David Ramsay — Hugh Henry Brackenridge — 
Thomas Jefferson—John Jay—John Trumbull—Philip Fre¬ 
neau—James Madison.* 

THE LITERARY CHARACTER OF THE PERIOD. 

This period may be said to have begun with the dis¬ 
cussion of legal constitutional principles. Political 
and judicial arguments form its staple. It was inaug¬ 
urated by Otis, Adams, and Patrick Henry; and it 
closed soon after the labors of Hamilton, Madison, and 
Jay, in The Federalist. Of the orations of Otis, which 
were described as ‘flames of fire/ we have but a few 
meagre reports. We are persuaded of the superior elo¬ 
quence of Henry only by the history of its wonderful 
effects. The passionate appeals of the elder Adams, 
which ‘ moved his hearers from their seats/ are not in 
print. But for tradition, it would be unknown that 
Rutledge of South Carolina was one of the greatest of 
our orators. There is scarcely a vestige of the resist¬ 
less declamation and argument of Pinkney. Some of 
the speeches of Fisher Ames have come down to us 


* Hamilton, Ramsay, Brackenridge, Jefferson, Jay, Trumbull, Freneau, 
and Madison, although living partly in this century, belong so essentially to 
the Revolutionary Period by the character of their writings, that we have 
not, in this instance, followed our ordinary arrangement. 

442 



THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


443 


with their passages of chaste and striking beauty, and 
they constitute nearly all the recorded eloquence of the 
time in which he was an actor. 

In the first rank of our great legislators stand Jeffer¬ 
son, the framer of the Declaration, and Hamilton, the 
vindicator of the Constitution. The latter was the 
soul and power of The Federalist, which, in the words 
of the Edinburgh Review, f would have done honor to 
the most illustrious statesman of ancient or modern 
times/ The writings of Madison show great extent of 
information, combined with soundness of reasoning 
and rare practicalness of mind. 

“Nor was the literature,” says Duyckinck, “con¬ 
fined to didactic political disquisitions. In Francis 
Hopkinson, it had a polished champion, who taught by 
wit what Dickinson and Drayton unfolded by argu¬ 
ment and eloquence, while Trumbull, Freneau, and 
Brackenridge, caught the various humors of the times, 
and introduced a new spirit into American litera¬ 
ture.” 

Various circumstances connected with the Revolu¬ 
tion opened the dawn of liberty for Catholics, and from 
this period may be dated the birthday of Catholic lit¬ 
erature in America ; but the wretched consequences of 
long-standing. intolerance, and the small number of 
Catholics scattered over the Union, precluded the pos¬ 
sibility of any considerable development. We may, 
however, mention with respect the controversial works 
of the patriarch of the American Church, the Most 
Reverend Archbishop Carroll, and of the Rev. John 
Thayer, a converted Puritan ; whilst, in politics, the 
able and patriotic pen of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, 
in defence of Colonial rights, made his name popular 
many years before he was called to sit in the Congress 
of the nation. The Abbe Robii/s New Travels through 


444 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


North America, and the early productions of Mathew 
Carey, complete the series of the principal works pub¬ 
lished by Catholics during the forty years of the period. 

James Otis, 1724-1783. 

James Otis, the distinguished American patriot, the 
first writer of the Revolution, was born in what is now 
called West Barnstable, Massachusetts. His family, 
of English origin, was one of the most respectable in 
the colony. In June, 1739, he was entered at Harvard 
College. The first two years of his collegiate course 
are said to have been given more to amusement than 
to study ; but, subsequently, he was distinguished for 
his application and proficiency. After finishing his 
course at the University, he devoted eighteen months 
to the pursuit of various branches of literature, and 
then entered upon the study of the law. Having re¬ 
moved to Boston, he at once assumed a high rank in 
his profession, and acquired a very extensive practice. 
In the midst of his professional engagements, he culti¬ 
vated his taste for literature ; and, in 1760, published 
a treatise, entitled The Rudiments of Latin Prosody , 
with a dissertation on Letters , and the Principles of 
Harmony in poetic and prosaic composition , collected 
from the best icriters. He also composed a similar work 
on Greek prosody. It was never printed, as he said, 
because “there were no Greek types in the country; 
or, if there were, no printer knew how to set them.” 

His public career dates from the famous speech which 
he delivered in February, 1761, against the ‘ writs of 
assistance/ These were search warrants, introduced by 
the English government, by means of which the courts 
were called upon to protect the officers of the customs 
in forcibly entering and searching the premises of mer- 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


445 


chants in quest of dutiable goods. Referring to that 
discourse. President Adams, the elder, says : “ Otis's 
was a flame of fire; with a promptitude of classical 
allusions, a profusion of legal authorities, a prophetic 
glance of his eyes into futurity, and a rapid torrent of 
impetuous eloquence, he hurried all away before him. 
American Independence was then and there born.” At 
the next election of members of the Legislature, in the 
same year, he was chosen almost unanimously a repre¬ 
sentative from Boston, and soon became the leader, in 
the House, of the popular party. 

Otis was the author of several political pamphlets, 
greatly applauded and widely circulated at the time. 
Perhaps the most important of them is the Rights of 
the British Colonies asserted and proved , which appeared 
in 1764. The argument of it is summed up at the close 
with admirable conciseness. An advertisement from 
his pen in the Boston Gazette of 1769, denouncing the 
commissioners of the customs, gave rise to an alterca¬ 
tion, in which he received a severe wound in the head, 
that impaired his intellectual faculties for life. His 
last years were passed at Andover, where he was struck 
by lightning in 1783, and died instantaneously. It is 
greatly to be regretted that, during his derangement, he 
destroyed all his papers. 

Benjamin Franklin, 1706-1790. 

Benjamin Franklin, a name equally illustrious in 
statesmanship and philosophy, was born in Boston on 
the seventeenth of January, 1706. .He could boast 
of no ancestral dignities, and claim no other nobil¬ 
ity than ‘in nature's heraldry of honest labor.' His 
father, a tallow-chandler, was too poor to give him the 
advantages of a collegiate education. It was whilst 


44G 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


attending to his trade, first with his father, and after¬ 
wards as printer with his brother, that he managed to 
employ his leisure moments in reading the best books 
he could find, in order to improve his English style, 
direct and mature his early studies. 

Among his first literary efforts were some specimens 
of ballad poetry. “ They were wretched stuff,” says he 
in his Memoirs, “ in street-ballad style. . . . Their suc¬ 
cess flattered my vanity; but my father discouraged me 
by criticising my performances, and telling me verse- 
makers were generally beggars. Thus I escaped being 
a poet, and probably a very bad one.” 

Eranklin left Boston for Philadelphia in 1723; went 
to London the following year, and worked there at his 
trade of printer for about two years. During his stay 
in that capital, he wrote a treatise of infidel metaphys¬ 
ics, entitled A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity, 
Pleasure and Pain . “It is not to be doubted,” says 
Allibone, “ that intimacies with English freethinkers at 
this period, and with French deists and atheists at a 
later stage of his life, did much to engender those lati- 
tudinarian sentiments upon religious subjects which 
Franklin is known to have entertained.” 

In 1729, we find him established as a printer in Phil¬ 
adelphia, and publisher of the Pennsylvania Gazette, 
then recently started. In 1732, he first published his 
celebrated Almanac, commonly known as Poor Rich¬ 
ard's Almanac, under the assumed name of f Richard 
Saunders/ Besides the usual tables and calendar, it 
contained a fund of useful information and proverbial 
sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and fru¬ 
gality. He was the founder of the American Philo¬ 
sophical Society, in 1743 ; and he established, in 1749, 
the Academy which in the course of time has grown to 
be the University of Pennsylvania. In 1752, he de- 


THE REVOLUTIOHAKY PElilOD. 


447 


monstrated his theory of the identity of lightning with 
electricity, by his famous kite experiment in a field 
near Philadelphia. Having passed five years in Great 
Britain (1757-1762) as agent for Pennsylvania, he 
returned to America; and, in 1764, again visited Eng¬ 
land with a petition for a change in the charter of the 
Province. Whilst abroad he was not forgetful of the 
interests of the Colonies at large ; and it was, doubt¬ 
less, owing in a great measure to the effect produced by 
his celebrated examination before the Parliament in 
1766, that the obnoxious Stamp Act was repealed. 
When the difficulties between the mother country and 
her Colonies had been aggravated to a state of open 
hostility, Franklin was elected a member of the Amer¬ 
ican Congress. After signing the Declaration of Inde¬ 
pendence, he was appointed Minister Plenipotentiary to 
France, where he arrived in December, 1776. His suc¬ 
cess in enlisting the sympathies and substantial assist¬ 
ance of the French people in behalf of the American 
Colonies is well known. 

After signing the definitive treaty of peace with 
Great Britain, he landed at Philadelphia in the eight¬ 
ieth year of his age, on the spot where, sixty-three years 
before, he stood a poor and friendless youth,—and was 
greeted with the ringing of bells, the discharge of ar¬ 
tillery, and the acclamations of a grateful and admi¬ 
ring people. 

For three years, he filled the dignified office of Presi¬ 
dent of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and, in 
1787, sat with Washington and Hamilton in the Fed¬ 
eral Convention which framed the Constitution of the 
United States. 

The finest study of Franklin is in his autobiography. 
Simple in style, it is tinged by the peculiar habit of 
the author’s mind, and shows his humor of character 


448 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


to perfection. His voluminous correspondence would 
alone have given him high literary reputation as a let¬ 
ter-writer. His philanthropy, good humor, wit, and 
ready resources, are everywhere apparent in his letters. 
But it is to the perspicuity, method, and ease of Frank¬ 
lin’s philosophical writings, that his solid reputation 
will remain greatly indebted. “ The style and manner 
of his publication on Electricity,” says Sir Humphrey 
Davy, “are almost as worthy of admiration as the doc¬ 
trines which they contain.” His moral writings are 
distinguished for what is called common sense. Edu¬ 
cated as a Presbyterian, he soon abandoned Christianity 
altogether, because he could not understand its dogmas . 
He never doubted the existence of God, His provi¬ 
dence, and the immortality of the soul; but, denying 
the divinity of Christ, he arranged for himself a sys¬ 
tem of natural religion, in which he tried earnestly to 
reach moral perfection. His warning hand, raised to 
Paine on the eve of the latter’s infamous publication 
entitled Age of Reason, deserves to be remembered. 

“ I would advise you not to attempt unchaining the 
tiger, but to burn this piece before it is seen by any 
other person. If men are so wicked with religion, 
what would they be without it? Perhaps you are in¬ 
debted to her originally, that is, to your religious edu¬ 
cation, for the habits of virtue upon which you now 
justly value yourself. You might easily display your 
excellent talents of reasoning upon a less hazardous sub¬ 
ject ; and thereby obtain a rank with our most distin¬ 
guished authors : for, amongst us, it is not necessary, 
as among the Hottentots, that a youth, to be raised 
to the company of men, should prove his manhood by 
beating his mother.” 

The last year of his presidency ended in October, 
1788 ; and, after that time, though he was often con- 


T1IE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


449 


suited on public affairs, lie held no office, under the 
government. He resided in Philadelphia with his 
daughter and grandchildren, and died there on the 
seventeenth of April, 1790, in the eighty-fourth year 
of his age, retaining his full powers of mind to the 
last. 

A new and complete edition of Franklin’s writings 
was published in Philadelphia, 1858. The materials 
have been classified under the following heads : 

1. Autobiography. 

2. Essays on Religious and Moral Subjects and the Economy 
of Life. 

3. Essays on General Politics , Commerce , and Political Econ¬ 
omy. 

4. Essays and Tracts, Historical and Political , before the 
American Revolution. 

5. Political Papers during and after the American Revolution. 

6. Letters and Papers on Electricity. 

7. Letters and Papers on Philosophical Subjects. 

8. Correspondence. 

A PETITION TO THOSE WHO HAVE THE CARE OF YOUTH. 

I address myself to all the friends of youth, and conjure- 
them to direct their passionate regards to my unhappy fate, 
in order to remove the prejudices of which I am the victim. 
There are twin sisters of us; and the eyes of men do not more 
closely resemble, nor are capable of being upon better terms 
with each other, than my sister and myself, were it not for the 
partiality of my parents, who make the most injurious distinc¬ 
tions between us. 

From my infancy, I have been led to consider my sister as a 
being of a more elevated rank. I was suffered to grow up 
without the least instruction, while nothing was spared in her 
education. She had masters to teach her writing, drawing, 
music, and other accomplishments; but if I, by chance, touched 
a pencil, a pen, or a needle, I was bitterly rebuked; and, more 
than once, I have been beaten for being awkward, and wanting 
a graceful manner. It is true, my sister associated me with 
her, upon some occasions; but she always made a point of tak- 
29 


•450 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


ing tlie lead, calling upon me only from necessity, or to figure 
by her side. 

But conceive not, sirs, that my complaints are instigated 
merely by vanity. No; my uneasiness is occasioned by an ob¬ 
ject much more serious. It is the practice in our family, that 
the whole business of providing for its subsistence falls upon 
my sister and myself. If any indisposition should attack my 
sister (and I mention it in confidence upon this occasion, that 
she is subject to the gout, the rheumatism, and cramp, with¬ 
out making mention of other accidents), what would be the 
fate of our poor family! Must not the regret of our parents 
be excessive, at having placed so great a difference between 
sisters who are perfectly equal? Alas! we must perish from 
distress; for it would not be in my power even to scrawl a sup¬ 
pliant petition, having been obliged to employ the hand of 
another in transcribing the request which I have now the 
honor to prefer you. 

Condescend, sirs, to make my parents sensible of the injus¬ 
tice of an exclusive tenderness, and of the necessity of distrib¬ 
uting their care and affection among all their children, equally. 

I am, with profound respect, 

Sirs, your obedient servant, 
The Left Hand. 


APOTHEGMS. 

God helps them that help themselves. 

Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears; while the 
used key is always bright. 

Dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that is 
the stuff life is made of. 

The sleeping fox catches no poultry. 

There will be sleeping enough in the grave. 

If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must 
be the greatest prodigality. 

Lost time is never found again; and, what we call time 
enough, always proves little enough. 

Sloth makes all things difficult; but industry, all easy. 

He that risetli late must trot all day, and shall scarce over¬ 
take his business at night. 

Laziness travels so slowly that Poverty soon overtakes him. 

Drive thy business, let not that drive thee. 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


451 


Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, 
and wise. 

Industry needs not wish; and he that lives on hope will die 
fasting. 

He that hath a trade, hath an estate; and he that hath a call¬ 
ing, hath an office of profit and honor. 

Industry pays debts, while despair increaseth them. 
Diligence is the mother of good luck. 

Plough deep while sluggards sleep, and you will have corn 
to sell and to keep. 

One to-day is worth two to-morrows. 

Never leave that till to-morrow which you*can do to-day. 
The cat in gloves catches no mice. 

Constant dropping wears away stones. 

By diligence and patience the mouse ate in two the cable. 
Little strokes fell great oaks. 

Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure; and 
since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour. 

A life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things. 

Three removes are as bad as a fire. 

Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee. 

If you would have your business done, go; if not, send. 

He that by the plough would thrive, 

Himself must either hold or drive. 

The eye of a master will do more work than both his hands. 
Want of care does us more damage than want of knowledge. 
Not to oversee workmen, is to leave them your purse open. 
If you would have a faithful servant, and one that you like, 
serve yourself. 

A fat kitchen makes a lean will. 

If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of get¬ 
ting. 

What maintains one vice would bring up two children. 

A small leak will sink a great ship. 

Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them. 

If you would know the value of money, go and try to bor¬ 
row some; for he that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing. 

When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy two 
more, that your appearance may be all of a piece. 

It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright. 


452 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Francis ITopkinson, 1737-1791. 

Francis ITopkinson, the celebrated wit, judge, states¬ 
man, and writer, was born in Philadelphia. He was 
educated at the College, now the University, of Penn¬ 
sylvania, and subsequently studied law. He visited 
England in 1765 ; and on his return to America, after 
an absence of two years, fixed his residence at Borden- 
town, New Jersey. In 1774, he published the Pretty 
Story , a political allegory, in which he held up to ridi¬ 
cule the encroachments of the British Parliament upon 
the rights of the American settlers. He followed up 
this first pamphlet with two others. The Prophecy and 
The Political Catechism. These writings met with 
great success, and helped not a little to educate the 
American people for political independence. Hopkin- 
son represented New Jersey in the Congress of 1776, 
and was one of the signers of the Declaration. In 1779, 
he was Judge of the Admiralty of Pennsylvania ; and, 
in 1790, passed to the Bench of the District Court of 
the United States. 

Besides his political writings, he is the author of 
many poems and satirical pieces. The best known of 
his poems are The Battle of the Kegs, The Treaty, A 
Camp Ballad, the Description of the Church, and The 
Neio Poof. 

His Battle of the Kegs has been considered the most 
popular of the American Revolutionary ballads. The 
New Poof is a remarkable allegory, containing the ar¬ 
guments of debate in the convention that framed the 
Constitution of the United States. 

His satirical pieces are, chiefly, The Typographical 
Mode of Conducting a Quarrel, Thoughts on the Diseases 
of the Mind, Essay on Whitewashing, and Modern 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


453 


Learning. The humor and ridicule displayed in these 
essays, did much to mitigate the violent party recrim¬ 
inations which disfigured the newspaper controversies 
of the day. 

For wit and satire, he has been compared to Lucian, 
Swift, and Rabelais ; but, unlike to them, he is gener¬ 
ally free from vulgarity, and always on the side of pa¬ 
triotism, virtue, and science. 

Hopkinson was also a reformer in the cause of edu¬ 
cation. In various papers, as Modern Learning, and 
the Ambiguity of the English Language, he derides the 
puzzle and perplexities of the methods used in the 
study of grammar, metaphysics, and science. 

At the end of his life, he carefully arranged his liter¬ 
ary productions for a uniform edition ; but, before he 
had executed his project, he was struck dead with apo¬ 
plexy, in 1790. 

Jeremy Belknap, 1744-1798. 

Jeremy Belknap, a local historian of some merit, 
was a native of Boston. After graduating at Harvard 
and teaching school for a few years, he became a Con¬ 
gregational minister in Hew Hampshire, where he re¬ 
sided during twenty years. He was one of the found¬ 
ers of the Massachusetts Historical Society, incorpo¬ 
rated in 1794, which served as a precedent and exam¬ 
ple for similar organizations throughout the country. 
After years of research and study, Belknap produced 
The History of Neio Hampshire, which has had several 
editions. The candor and agreeable style of the au¬ 
thor deserve no less praise than his tact and fidelity. 
He wrote also The Foresters, an allegory, in which the 
leading States and interests of the American continent 
are represented under catch-words of easy interpreta- 


454 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


tion. The Foresters themselves are the people of the 
United States; Onontio is Canada ; Peter Bull-Frog, 
New York ; Robert Lumber, New Hampshire ; Walter 
Pipeload, Virginia. There are found in this book some 
good specimens of sly humor, hit off in a neat, quiet 
style. 

Belknap published also a number of fugitive essays, 
biographies, and historical disquisitions. 

His death, caused by paralysis, occurred suddenly 
in 1798, in Boston, where he had spent the last eleven 
years of his life. 

Alexander Hamilton, 1757-1804. 

Alexander Hamilton, one of our best, if not the first 
of our political writers, the right arm of Washington 
in peace and war, was born in Nevis, one of the West 
India Islands, in 1757. At the age of fifteen, he came 
to New York and was entered as a private student in 
King’s, now Columbia, College. When only seven¬ 
teen, he published a series of admirable essays on the 
rights of the Colonies. Before he was nineteen, he 
joined the Revolutionary army as a captain of artillery, 
and, at twenty, he became aid-de-camp of General 
Washington. At the close of the year 1782, he took 
his seat in Congress, and, in 1787, lie was a delegate 
to the Convention which framed the Constitution of 
the United States. After the adjournment of the Con¬ 
vention, he wrote, in conjunction with Madison and 
Jay, a series of papers on the Constitution, which did 
much towards bringing about its adoption by the several 
States. These essays were afterwards collected, and 
published in a volume under the title of The Federal¬ 
ist, and constitute one of the most profound and lucid 
treatises on politics that have ever been written. 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


455 


Hamilton was the author of fifty-one out of the eighty- 
five numbers of The Federalist , and, remarkable as are 
those of his illustrious associates, his are easily distin¬ 
guished by their superior conprehensiveness, practical¬ 
ness, originality, and condensed and polished diction. 
Of his eloquence, we have traditions which represent 
it as fascinating; but few of his speeches were reported, 
and even these very imperfectly. 

Hamilton was certainly a man of superior intellect¬ 
ual capacity, and of great firmness and energy of char¬ 
acter, and no one, with the exception of the illustrious 
Washington, helped more to give a regular organiza¬ 
tion to the newly established government. The re¬ 
ports which he published, as Secretary of the Treasury, 
have given him the reputation of the best financier of 
the New World. 

On the death of Washington, in 1799, Hamilton suc¬ 
ceeded to the chief command of the national forces, 
raised for the purpose of carrying on war against the 
leaders of the French revolutionary government. On 
the disbanding of the army, he retired to private life, 
and practised at the bar until 1804, when his life was 
terminated by a wound received in a duel with Vice- 
President Aaron Burr. His death excited intense re¬ 
grets, and his loss was at the time mourned as a na¬ 
tional calamity. 

David Ramsay, 1749-1815. 

David Ramsay, one of our popular historians, was 
born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, the son of an 
Irish emigrant. After graduating at Princeton Col¬ 
lege, in 1765, and teaching for two years, he com¬ 
menced the study of medicine in Philadelphia under 
Dr. Rush, and entered upon its practice in Maryland, 
in 1772. In the following year, he removed to Charles- 


456 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


ton, S. C., and soon rose to distinction by displaying 
great powers of mind, particularly in the cause of the 
Revolution. He was in Congress from 1782 to 1785, 
and served one year as its President. 

From the pen of Ramsay we have a History of the 
American Revolution, said to be at once concise and 
complete ; a Life of Washington, dedicated to the 
youth of the United States, a well-writ ten abridgment 
of Marshall's ; and a History of South Carolina, from 
its settlement in 1670 to the year 1808, a very interest¬ 
ing and faithful work. Besides these productions, he 
published a number of essays connected with the medi¬ 
cal profession, and a Eulogium on Dr. Rush. 

Dr. Ramsay was remarkable for the virtues of his 
private life. In every way that could advance the gen¬ 
eral welfare of society, he was active and zealous, even 
to imprudence, as the wreck of his private fortune 
bears witness. His industry was proverbial—carrying 
out to its maximum the economy of time as practised 
by Franklin and Rush. He slept but four hours, rose 
before daylight, and meditated, book in hand, while 
he waited for the dawn. In 1815, when he had com¬ 
pleted his sixty-sixth year, he suddenly fell a victim to 
the murderous attack of a lunatic, by whom he was 
shot in open day in the streets of Charleston. 

Hugh Henry Brackenridge, 1748-1816. 

Hugh Henry Brackenridge, well noted for his so¬ 
cial wit and a fine political satire, was born in Scotland, 
in 1748. He was brought by his father to America 
when he was five years old. The family settled down 
on a small lease farm in York County, Pennsylvania, 
on the borders of Maryland. With the scanty means 
which he laid up by teaching a school in Maryland, he 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


457 


made his way to the College of Princeton, and man¬ 
aged to support himself in the higher classes by teach¬ 
ing the lower. In conjunction with Freneau, he deliv¬ 
ered at the Commencement, in 1771, a poem in dia¬ 
logue on the Rising Glory of America. After taking 
his first degree, he continued a tutor in the College, 
and studied divinity. Like Dwight and Barlow, he 
was a chaplain in the Revolutionary army, preaching 
political sermons in the camp. But, unwilling publicly 
to maintain doctrines in which he could not privately 
believe, he relinquished the pulpit for the bar, and 
studied law with Samuel Chase at Annapolis, Mary¬ 
land. In 1781, he established himself at Pittsburg, 
from which place he was sent to the State Legislature. 
The scenes which he passed through, and his experi¬ 
ence of political life, gave him the material for his 
Modern Chivalry, or the Adventures of Captain Far¬ 
rago, and Teague O’Regan, his Servant, the last portion 
of. which was issued in 1806. In the West, Modern 
Chivalry is regarded as a kind of aboriginal classic. 
It has the rough flavor of the frontier settlement in its 
manly sentiment, and not particularly delicate expres¬ 
sion. The story, with its few incidents, is modelled 
upon Iludibras and Don Quixote. The object of the 
author was to sow a few seeds of political wisdom 
among his fellow-citizens, then little experienced in 
the use of political power, and his lessons in this way 
are profitable still. Among his other works are Inci¬ 
dents of the Insurrection in the Western Paris of 
Pennsylvania, and numerous miscellanies which, ‘if 
collected/ says Duyckinck, ‘would form a pleasing 
and instructive commentary on his times/ 

Having been appointed, in 1799, Judge of the Su¬ 
preme Court of Pennsylvania, he filled the office with 
honor till his death in 1816. 


458 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


CAPTAIN FARRAGO’S REPLY TO A CHALLENGE. 

Sir: I have two objections to this duel matter. The one is, 
lest I should hurt you; and the other is, lest you should hurt 
me. I do not see any good it would do me to put a bullet 
through any part of your body. I could make no use of you, 
when dead, for any culinary purpose, as I would a rabbit or 
turkey. I am no cannibal to feed on the flesh of men. Why 
then shoot down a human creature, of which I could make no 
use ? A buffalo would be better meat. For, though your flesh 
may be delicate and tender, yet it wants that firmness and con¬ 
sistency which takes and retains salt. At any rate, it would 
not be fit for long sea-voyages. You might make a good bar¬ 
becue, it is true, being of the nature of a raccoon or an opos¬ 
sum; but people are not in the habit of barbecuing anything 
human now. As to your hide, it is not worth taking off, be¬ 
ing little better than that of a year-old colt. 

It would seem to me a strange thing to shoot at a man that 
M ould stand still to be shot at, inasmuch as I have been here¬ 
tofore used to shoot at things flying, or running, or jumping. 
Were you on a tree now, like a squirrel, endeavoring to hide 
yourself in the branches, or like a raccoon, that after much 
eying and spying, I observe at length, in the crotch of a tall 
oak, with boughs and leaves intervening, so that I could just 
get a sight of his hinder parts, I should think it pleasurable 
enough to take a shot at you. But as it is, there is no skill or 
judgment requisite either to discover or take you down. 

As to myself, I do not like to stand in the way of anything 
harmful. I am under apprehensions you might hit me. That 
being the case, I think it most advisable to stay at some dis¬ 
tance. If you want to try your pistol, take some object, a tree 
or a barn-door, about my dimensions. If you hit that, send 
me word; and I shall acknowledge that, if I had been in the 
same place, you might also have hit me. 


Thomas Jefferson, 1743-1826. 

Thomas Jefferson, whose name is indissolubly con¬ 
nected with the Declaration of Independence, was born 
in Albemarle County, Virginia, in 1743. After receiv¬ 
ing the lessons of private teachers at home, he com- 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


459 


pleted his classical education at William and Mary Col¬ 
lege. He studied law under the celebrated George 
Wythe, and entered upon the practice of his profession 
in 1767. Two years after, he was elected to the Pro¬ 
vincial Legislature, and then began to manifest the 
most advanced opposition to the colonial policy of 
England. In 1774, appeared in a pamphlet form his 
Summary View of the Rights of British America, which 
ably and boldly set forth our rights, and pointed out 
the various violations of those rights by the English 
government. Jefferson was one of the delegates from 
Virginia who moved that Congress should declare the 
L T nited Colonies free and independent States. In the 
committee appointed to frame the declaration, and 
consisting of Adams, Franklin, Sherman, Livingston, 
and Jefferson, the last-named was made chairman, and 
requested to draw up a paper setting forth the causes 
and the necessity of resorting to arms. Ills draft was 
adopted, with some slight modifications, and, on the 
Fourth of July, 1776, was signed by Congress. 

Jefferson was successively Governor of his own State, 
Minister in Paris, Secretary of State, Vice-President, 
and, finally, in 1801, President of the United States. 
It was at the time he held the office of Secretary, that 
the rivalry broke out between him and Hamilton, 
which divided the country into two great parties, the 
Federalists and the Anti-Federalists.* We may here 
be satisfied with the remark, that this division of par¬ 
ties has prompted the unbounded praise and censure 
respectively lavished upon their great leaders. After 
two terms of presidency, Jefferson retired to his coun- 


* The Federalists, so far as the leading principle is concerned, are repre¬ 
sented by the Republican party of to-day. The Anti-Federalists, called Re¬ 
publicans as early as 1793, have since 1832 come under the denomination of 
Democrats. 




460 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


try-seat, at Monticello, and, for the remainder of his 
career, lived the life of a planter and student. The 
unstinted hospitality with which he received his num¬ 
berless visitors, so much straitened his resources that he 
came to the determination of selling his library to 
Congress for twenty thousand dollars. It consisted of 
about seven thousand volumes, and was arranged un¬ 
der the Baconian classification of memory, reason or 
judgment, and imagination. His interest in the cause 
of education led to the foundation of the University of 
Virginia, of which he filled the duties of first Rector. 

In the midst of his political strifes, Jefferson wrote 
his Notes on Virginia , which gave a favorable impres¬ 
sion of the writer. His Manual of Parliamentary 
Practice is still referred to as an authority, at Wash¬ 
ington and elsewhere. His Autobiography, coming up 
to the year 1790, and his Correspondence from 1775 to 
his death, were published in 1829 by his grandson, T. 
J. Randolph. The Autobiography is far from possess¬ 
ing the charm of Franklin’s. His Correspondence 
seems to have been written with great care. It is in¬ 
deed by his private letters, as much as by his public 
acts, that Jefferson wielded an effective power through 
the length and breadth of the country. In general, 
his style is easy, flexible, and familiar; at times, very 
vigorous; at others, diffuse. The reader of his works 
should be on guard against those portions of them in 
which he assails Christianity, and, in particular, the 
authority of the Scriptures. “ But, indeed, it is 
hardly conceivable,” says Allibone, “that any intel¬ 
ligent and candid mind could be perverted by the cru¬ 
dities and self-contradictory sophisms which distin¬ 
guish the theological speculations of the sage of Mon¬ 
ticello.” Many of his views on religion, morals, and 
politics, were but reflexes of the radicalism of the 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


461 


French revolution, of which he had been a sympathiz¬ 
ing spectator. 

Thomas Jefferson died on the Fourth of July, 1826, 
just half a century from the date of the Declaration 
of Independence. 

PASSAGE OF THE POTOMAC THROUGH THE BLUE RIDGE. 

(From Notes on Virginia.) 

The passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge is per¬ 
haps one of the most stupendous scenes in nature. You stand 
on a very high point of land. On your right comes up the 
Shenandoah, having ranged along the foot of the mountain a 
hundred miles to seek a vent. On your left approaches the 
Potomac, seeking a passage also. In the moment of their 
juncture, they rush together against the mountain, rend it 
asunder, and pass off to the sea. The first glance at this 
scene hurries our senses into the opinion that this earth has 
been created in time; that the mountains were formed first; 
that the rivers began to flow afterwards; that, in this place 
particularly, they have been dammed up by the Blue Ridge 
Mountains, and have formed an ocean which filled the whole 
valley; that, continuing to rise, they have at length broken 
over at this spot, and have torn the mountain down from its 
summit to its base. The piles of rocks on each hand, but par¬ 
ticularly on the Shenandoah, the evident marks of their dis- 
rupture and avulsion from their beds by the most powerful 
agents of nature, corroborate the impression. But the distant 
finishing which Nature has given to the picture is of a very 
different character. It is a true contrast to the foreground. 
It is as placid and delightful as that is wild and tremendous. 
For, the mountain being cloven asunder, she presents to your 
eye, through the cleft, a small catch of smooth blue horizon, at 
an infinite distance in the plain country, inviting you, as it were, 
from the riot and tumult roaring around, to pass through the. 
breach, and participate of the calm below. Here the eye ulti¬ 
mately composes itself; and that way, too, the road happens 
actually to lead. You cross the Potomac above its junction, 
pass along its side through the base of the mountain for three 
miles, its terrible precipices hanging in fragments over you, 
and within about twenty miles reach Fredericktown, and the 
fine country round that. This scene is worth a voyage across 


462 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


the Atlantic. Yet here, as in the neighborhood of the Natural 
Bridge, are people who have passed their lives within half a 
dozen miles, and have never been to survey these monuments 
of a war between rivers and mountains, which must have 
shaken the earth itself to its centre. 


CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. 

His mind was great and powerful, without being of the very 
first order; his penetration strong, though not so acute as that 
of Newton, Bacon, or Locke; and, as far as he saw, no judg¬ 
ment was ever sounder. He was slow in operation, being 
little aided by invention or imagination, but sure in conclusion. 
Hence the common remark of his officers, of the advantage he 
derived from councils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, 
he selected whatever was best; and, certainly, no general 
ever planned his battles more judiciously. But, if deranged 
during the course of the action, if any member of his plan was 
dislocated by sudden circumstances, lie was slow in a read¬ 
justment. The consequence was, that he often failed in the 
field, but rarely against an enemy in station, as at Boston and 
York. He was incapable of fear, meeting personal dangers 
with the calmest unconcern. Perhaps the strongest featuie 
in his character was prudence, never acting until every cir¬ 
cumstance, every consideration was maturely weighed; re¬ 
fraining, if he saw a doubt; but, when once decided, going 
through with his purpose, whatever obstacles opposed. His 
integrity was the most pure, his justice the most inflexible I 
have ever known; no motives of interest or consanguinity, of 
friendship or hatred, being able to bias his decision. He was, 
indeed, in every sense of the word, a wise, a good, and a 
great man. 

His temper was naturally irritable and high-toned; but re¬ 
flection and resolution had obtained a firm and habitual as¬ 
cendency over it. If ever, however, it broke its bounds, he 
was most tremendous in his wrath. In his expenses he was 
honorable, but exact ; liberal in contributions to whatever 
promised utility, but frowning and unyielding on all visionary 
projects and all unworthy calls on his charity. His heart was 
not warm in its affections; but he exactly calculated every 
man’s value, and gave him a solid esteem proportioned to it. 
Ilis person, you know, was fine; his stature exactly what one 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


463 


would wish; liis deportment easy, erect, and noble; the best 
horseman of his age, and the most graceful figure that could 
be seen on horseback. Although, in the circle of his friends, 
where he might be unreserved with safety, he took a free 
share in conversation, his colloquial talents were not above 
mediocrity, possessing neither copiousness of ideas nor fluency 
of words. In public, when called on for a sudden opinion, he 
was unready, short, and embarrassed. Yet he wrote readily, 
rather diffusely, in an easy and correct style. This he had ac¬ 
quired by conversation with the world; for his education was 
merely reading, writing, and common arithmetic, to wdiich h?. 
added surveying, at a late day. His time was employed in ac¬ 
tion chiefly, reading little, and that only in agriculture and 
English history. His correspondence became necessarily ex¬ 
tensive, and, with journalizing his agricultural proceedings, 
occupied most of his leisure hours within doors. On the 
whole, his character w’as, in its mass, perfect; in nothing bad, 
in few points indifferent; and it may truly be said, that never 
did nature and fortune combine more perfectly to make a man 
great, and to place him in the same constellation with what¬ 
ever worthies have merited from man an everlasting remem¬ 
brance. For his was the singular destiny and merit of leading 
the armies of his country successfully through an arduous war 
for the establishment of its independence; of conducting its 
councils through the birth of her government, new in its forms 
and principles, until it had settled down to a quiet and or¬ 
derly train; and of scrupulously obeying the laws through the 
whole of his career, civil and military, of which the history of 
the world furnishes no other example. 


John Jay, 1745-1829. 

John Jay, one of our leading statesmen and political 
writers, was born in the city of New York, in 1745. 
After graduating at King^s College, he entered upon 
the study of the law. In 1774, he was chosen a dele¬ 
gate to the first American Congress, and as a member 
of a committee wrote the Address to the People oj 
Great Britain , one of the most eloquent productions 
of the time. He contributed five numbers to The Fed - 


4G4 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


eralist. These and other political papers of Jay are 
no less distinguished for purity of style than for depth 
of reasoning. We must, however, take exception to 
his spirit of bigotry, which made him an advanced 
scout of Knownothingisin. 

Jay filled important posts, as those of Minister to 
Spain, negotiator of the peace with Great Britain, 
Secretary of State, Chief Justice of the United States, 
and Governor of his own State—abundant honors and 
employments, which left him nearly thirty years of 
rural retirement at Bedford, N. Y., where he died in 
1829. 

(From the Address of the New York Convention.) 

Under the auspices and direction of Divine Providence, your 
forefathers removed to the wilds and wilderness of America. 
By their industry, they made it fruitful—and by their virtue, 
a happy country. And we should still have enjoyed the bless¬ 
ings of peace and plenty, if we had not forgotten the source 
from which these blessings flowed; and permitted our coun¬ 
try to be contaminated by the many shameful vices which 
have prevailed among us. 

It is a well-known truth, that no virtuous people were ever 
oppressed; and it is also true, that a scourge was never want¬ 
ing to those of an opposite character. Even the Jews, those 
favorites of Heaven, met with the frowns, whenever they for¬ 
got the smiles, of their benevolent Creator. By tyrants of 
Egypt, of Babylon, of Syria, and of Borne, they were severely 
chastised; and those tyrants themselves, when they had exe¬ 
cuted the vengeance of Almighty God, their own crimes burst¬ 
ing on their own heads, received the rewards justly due to their 
violation of the sacred rights of mankind. 

You were born equally free with the Jews, and have as good 
a right to be exempted from the arbitrary domination of Brit¬ 
ain, as they had from the invasions of Egypt, Babylon, Syria, 
or Rome. But they, for their wickedness, were permitted to 
be scourged by the latter; and we, for our wickedness, are 
scourged by tyrants as cruel and implacable as those. Our 
case, however, is peculiarly distinguished from theirs. Their 
enemies were strangers, unenlightened, and bound to them by 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


465 


no ties of gratitude or consanguinity. Our enemies, on tlie 
contrary, call themselves Christians. They are of a nation 
and people bound to us by the strongest ties—a people, by 
whose side we have fought and bled; whose power we have 
contributed to raise; who owe much of their wealth to our in¬ 
dustry, and whose grandeur has been augmented by our ex¬ 
ertions. ... 

You may be told that your forts have been taken; your 
country ravaged; and that, therefore, God is not with you. 
It is true that some forts have been taken, that our country 
hath been ravaged, and that our Maker is displeased with us. 
But it is also true that the King of Heaven is not, like the 
King of Britain, implacable. If we turn from our sins, He 
will turn from his anger. Then will our arms be crowned 
with success, and the pride and power of our enemies, like the 
arrogance and pride of Nebuchadnezzar, will vanish away. 
Let a general reformation of manners take place—let univer¬ 
sal charity, public spirit, and private virtue be inculcated, en¬ 
couraged, and practised. Unite in preparing for a vigorous de¬ 
fence of your country, as if all depended on your own exertions. 
And when you have done all things, then rely upon the good 
providence of Almighty God for success, in full confidence 
that without his blessing, all our efforts will inevitably 
fail. . , . 


John Trumbull, 1750-1831. 

John Trumbull, the author of McFingal , was the 
son of a Congregational minister, in the district of 
Watertown, Connecticut. Sent to Yale, he was grad¬ 
uated with great honors at the age of seventeen, and 
then remained three years longer at the institution, de¬ 
voting himself principally to the study of polite letters. 
In 1771, he became tutor at the College, and, in the 
following year, published his Progress of Dulness, a sa¬ 
tirical poem in octo-syllabic measure. In the first part, 
he exposes to ridicule the methods of education that 
then prevailed. Tom Brainless, a country clown, too 
indolent to follow the plough, is sent by his weak- 
30 


466 


AMERICAS' LITERATURE. 


minded parents to a college, where a degree is gained 
by a residence; and, soon after, he appears as a full- 
wigged parson, half-fanatic, half-fool, to do his share 
towards bringing Christianity into contempt. “In 
the second part, a blow is aimed at the coxcombry of 
fashionable life in the person of Dick Hairbrain, a 
conceited and idle fop. The third part describes the 
life and fortunes of Miss Harriet Simper, who, in igno¬ 
rance and folly, if not in hooped rotundity, is the 
counterpart of the said Hairbrain, by whose charms she 
is captivated. But, failing in her efforts, she consoles 
herself, in later years, with the love of the profound 
Brainless, and their marriage concludes the poem.” 

At the termination of the war, in 1782, Trumbull 
completed McFingal, the first part of which he had 
published as early as 1775. This poem is modelled 
upon Hudibras in the ©onstruction of its verse and 
many of its turns of humor; but it is American in its 
ideas and subject-matter. President Dwight of Yale 
College says of it, that “it is not inferior in wit and 
humor to Hudibras, and in every other respect is supe¬ 
rior.” The hero, McFingal, is a Scottish justice of 
the peace, residing in the vicinity of Boston, an un¬ 
yielding loyalist, who endeavors to make proselytes to 
the British, cause by arguments which militate against 
himself. His zeal and logic are together irresistibly 
ludicrous, but there is nothing in its character unnat¬ 
ural, as it is common for men who read more than they 
think, or attempt to discuss questions they do not un¬ 
derstand, to use arguments which refute the positions 
they wish to defend. In the midst of his discussion, 
McFingal is seized by his enemies of the opposite polit¬ 
ical party, “tried by the mob, convicted of violent 
Toryism, and tarred and feathered. On being set at 
liberty, he assembles his friends around him in his cel- 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


467 


lar, and harangues them until they are dispersed by the 
Whigs, when he escapes to Boston. These are all the 
important incidents of the story, yet it is never te¬ 
dious ; and few commence reading it, who do not fol¬ 
low it to the end and regret its termination.” 

For many years, Trumbull was a member of the 
State Legislature of Connecticut, and, in 1801, was 
appointed a judge of the Superior Court. In 1825, he 
removed to the residence of his daughter in the city 
of Detroit, where he died in 1831. 

Philip Freneau, 1752-1832. 

Philip Freneau, a popular political versifier in the 
period of the American Revolution, was born in New 
York city of a Huguenot family. In 1771, we find him 
a graduate of Princeton College, in the same class with 
James Madison, with whom he continued afterwards to 
be in close intimacy. During the Revolutionary war, 
he published those pieces of political burlesque and 
invective, which made his name familiar and popular 
throughout the country. He parodied in an amusing 
manner the speeches of the king and his ministers; 
and every event on sea or land he celebrated in verses 
easily understood, and none the less admired, perhaps, 
for a dash of coarseness, by which most of them are 
characterized. 

In the editorials of the National Gazette, in 1792 and 
1793, the first examples were given by Freneau of that 
partisan abuse which has ever since been the shame of 
American politics. For many years he was engaged in 
seafaring. The second war with Great Britain, in 
1812, gave him a new occasion to write songs and bal¬ 
lads. 

Freneau was a man of considerable genius; his ap- 


468 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


preciation of nature was tender and sympathetic ; his 
classical knowledge extensive, his pen versatile and 
ever ready; but his execution was oftentimes careless. 
He wrote many small poems, some of them of uncom¬ 
mon freshness and originality, but he left no great 
work, standing as a monument to his memory. His 
best pieces are The Pictures of Columbus, The Indian 
Student, The Indian Burying-ground, The Man of 
Ninety, and May to April. Philip Freneau died near 
Freehold, Hew Jersey, December, 1832. 

MAY TO APRIL. 

Without your showers 
I breed no flowers; 

Each field a barren waste appears; 

If you don’t wee P> 

My blossoms sleep, 

They take such pleasure in your tears. 

As your decay 
Makes room for May, 

So I must part with all that’s mine; 

My balmy breeze, 

My blooming trees, 

To torrid zones their sweets resign. 

For April dead 
My shades 1 spread, 

To her 1 owe my dress so gay; 

Of daughters three 
It falls on me 

To close our triumphs on one day. 

Thus to repose 
All nature goes, 

Month after month must find its doom; 

Time on the wing, 

May ends the Spring, 

And Summer frolics o’er her tomb. 


THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 


469 


THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE. 

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, 

Hid in this silent dull retreat, 

Untouched thy honeyed blossoms blow, 
Unseen thy little branches greet: 

No roving foot shall crush thee here, 

No busy hand provoke a tear. 

By Nature’s self in white arrayed, 

She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, 

And planted here the guardian shade, 

And sent soft waters running by; 

Thus quietly thy summer goes, 

Thy days declining to repose. 

Smit with these charms that must decay, 

I grieve to see your future doom, 

They died,—nor were those flowers more gay, 
The flowers that did in Eden bloom; 
Unpitying frosts and Autumn’s power 
Shall leave no vestige of this flower. 

From morning suns and evening dews 
At first thy little being came: 

If nothing once, you nothing lose, 

For when you die you are the same; 

The space between is but an hour, 

The frail duration of a flower. 


James Madison, 1751-1836. 

James Madison, the fourth President of the United 
States, was born in King George County, Virginia, in 
1751. Whilst at Princeton College, he so conducted 
himself as to merit this honorable testimonial from its 
President, Witherspoon, that, in his whole career at 
the College, he had never known him to say or do an 
indiscreet thing. The excessive application of Madi¬ 
son to his studies injured his health. He at times al¬ 
lowed himself but three hours’ sleep, giving to his books 


470 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


the rest of the twenty-four hours. He held several ini 
portant offices in his own State, was a Member of Con¬ 
gress in 1780, and a Delegate to the Convention ap¬ 
pointed to frame the Constitution. It is a remarkable 
fact, that he was the only one to preserve a record of 
the debates in that famous assembly. They were pub¬ 
lished in 1840, and are amongst the most valuable ma¬ 
terials of our country's history. It is no mean part of 
his glory, as a patriot and constitutional writer, that 
twenty-nine essays of The Federalist are from his pen. 
All his writings would make about fifteen octavo vol¬ 
umes. They are chiefly on constitutional, political, 
and historical subjects, but among them are some re¬ 
lating to eminent persons and of a miscellaneous char¬ 
acter, which on this account are more generally inter¬ 
esting. His style is clear, exact, and justly modu¬ 
lated. 

After serving two presidential terms, Madison re¬ 
tired to his home in Virginia. With the exception of 
his visits to Charlottesville, in his capacity of Rector of 
the University of Virginia, he passed his time in his 
retreat, in the pursuits of literature and the study of 
natural history. He expired calmly, in 1836, at the 
advanced age of eighty-five. Shortly before his death, 
as if to gather up the great constitutional lessons of 
his life, he penned these sentences of advice to his 
countrymen: “ The advice nearest to my heart, and 
dearest to my convictions is, that the union of the 
States be cherished and perpetuated. Let the avowed 
enemy to it be regarded as a Pandora, with her box 
opened; and the disguised one, as the serpent creeping 
with deadly wiles into Paradise.” 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


471 


THIRD PERIOD. 

The Present Century. 

Character of the Period—Charles Brockden Brown—Joseph 
Bennie—William Wirt—John Marshall—James Hillhouse — 
John England—Washington Allston—Edgar Allan Poe—John 
C. Calhoun — Fenimore Cooper—Daniel Webster — Lydia 11. 
Sigourney—William H. Prescott—Washington Irving—Robert 
Walsh—James Paulding—Nathaniel Hawthorne — Fitz-Greene 
Ilalleck—Jared Sparks—George Ticknor—Archbishop Spalding 
— O. A. Brownson—William C. Bryant—Richard 11. Dana — 
Ralph Waldo Emerson—Henry W. Longfellow—George Ban¬ 
croft—Isaac T. Hecker—Other Writers. 

CHARACTER OF THE PERIOD. 

During this period, the literature of America has 
been developing in all branches, and assuming vast pro¬ 
portions. In quantity, therefore, it may fairly com¬ 
pete with that of other countries; but it has not as yet 
reached the tone and dignity of a national literature. 
The utilitarian, rather than imaginative or artistic, 
turn of the American mind, the superficial education 
of the upper classes, which render them easily satisfied 
with crude productions, the haste of the writers them¬ 
selves, apparent in their want of thoroughness and fin¬ 
ish, the comparative youth of a country inhabited by 
many races that have not yet perfectly coalesced,— 
these and other causes have made our literature provincial 
and feeble. The United States as yet have produced* no 
great master in any kind of poetry, in history, in fiction, 
not even in criticism. We may, however, congratulate 
ourselves on respectable names, which Europe has not 
hesitated to recognize, as Poe, Bryant, and Longfellow, in 


472 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


poetry; Prescott, Irving, and Bancroft, in history ; O. A. 
Brownson, in review-writing; Cooper and Hawthorne, in 
fiction. We may expect that the more general and 
more intense eagerness after knowledge, which is felt 
in all classes of society, must produce still greater 
results than those already achieved, unless we suffer two 
threatening evils to predominate,—a growing spirit of 
infidelity, and a morbid appetite for the sensational 
novel. These, by their mischievous influence on the 
mind and the heart, would certainly disappoint us of 
the precious fruits of literature which we had a right 
to expect. 

Besides the same causes that have impeded the prog¬ 
ress of non-Catholic writers, Catholics have heretofore 
met with peculiar disadvantages, such as the hostility 
of the Protestant press, the small number of Catholic 
readers, the obligation under which they are of keeping 
aloof from so much of English literature that is tainted, 
and the difficulty, with the present legislation, of having 
flourishing schools of their own. We may mention a few 
names great in their respective departments, as Matthew 
Carey, Robert Walsh, England, Brownson, Hughes, F. P. 
Kenrick, M. J. Spalding, Fr. Hecker, John Boyle O’Reilly, 
Brother Azarias, and many living writers. The period¬ 
icals that have been most conspicuous in directing and 
representing Catholic opinion are, The United States 
Catholic Miscellany, The Metropolitan and United States 
Magazine of Baltimore, Brownson’s Review, The Catholic 
World, and the Catholic Quarterly.* The last three pub¬ 
lications particularly have obtained general recognition 
at home and abroad for superior skill and independence 


* The American Catholic Quarterly Review of Philadelphia was founded 
in 1876, under the editorial management of the late Rt. Rev. James A. Cor¬ 
coran, D. D. 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


473 


of tone, and have laid on us Catholics a claim of deep 
gratitude. 

Charles Brockden Brown, 1771-1810. 

Charles Brockden Brown, descended from a highly 
respectable Quaker fa'mily, whose ancestors emigrated 
with William Penn, was born in Philadelphia, in 1771. 
It is somewhat remarkable that the first of our novel¬ 
ists, as well as the first of our painters, Benjamin 
West, should have sprung from a sect, which, in prin¬ 
ciple and practice, eschews imagination. Brown was 
not only the first person in America that ventured to 
pursue literature as a profession, but almost the first 
to make an attempt in the field of purely imaginative 
writing. We find him in 1798 contributing a series of 
papers, entitled The Man at Home, to the Weekly Mag¬ 
azine, a miscellany of some merit, published in Phila¬ 
delphia. In the same year appeared Wieland. The 
success of this novel was immediate, and so stimulat¬ 
ing to its author that, in the December after its pub¬ 
lication, he wrote Ormond, or The Secret Witness. 
Then came in close succession the first part of Mervyn ; 
Edgar Huntly, or Adventures of a Sleep- Walker ; the 
second part of Mervyn ; Clara Boivard, and Jane Talbot. 
All these novels are of the intensely terrific school, and 
such as do not leave the most pleasant impressions on 
the mind. Extravagant and consummate depravity 
actuates too many of the characters. The scenes may 
rivet attention, and the plots excite the keenest curios¬ 
ity ; yet, they pain the heart beyond the privilege of 
fiction, and leave in the imagination only a crowd of 
terrific phantasms. None of Brown's novels can be 
said to possess unity in the details, or to be finished in 
the general design and execution. 


474 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


In 1799, he published the first number of The 
Monthly Magazine and American Revieiv. This work 
he continued with great industry and ability until the 
end of the year 1806. In 1805, he commenced another 
journal with the title of The Literary Magazine and 
American Register. In 1806, he entered upon a new 
work, a semi-annual American Register, five volumes of 
which he lived to complete and publish; it is now and 
must long be consulted as a valuable body of annals. 

Joseph Dennie, 1768-1812. 

Joseph Dennie, the author of The Lay Preacher , was 
born in Boston, in the year 1768. He studied the 
classics at Harvard, where he was graduated in 1790. 
Having found little encouragement in the profession of 
the law, which he had adopted, he relinquished it for 
literary pursuits, and established in Boston a weekly 
paper, called The Tatler. But it lived scarcely three 
months ; and Dennie, upon invitation, became, in 1795, 
the editor, and afterwards, the conductor of the Farm-, 
er’s Museum , published at Walpole, New Hampshire. 
In this periodical appeared his Lay Preacher, or short 
sermons for idle readers, which had the fault of irrev¬ 
erence in taking from Scripture its texts for familiar 
discussion ; and The Farrago, a series of essays full of 
warm apprehension of the poetic beauties of life and 
literature. In the year 1799, he moved to Philadel¬ 
phia, where, in 1801, he established The Portfolio, first 
issued as a weekly publication, afterwards changed to 
a monthly magazine, which he conducted until his 
death, in 1812, and which was continued with varied 
success till 1827. 

“He enjoyed,” says Allibone, “great reputation as 
a writer during his life and for some years after his 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


475 


decease. Patriarchs of the lean and slippered panta¬ 
loon ’—who perhaps composed a part of the ‘ mob of 
gentlemen who wrote with ease 9 about the beginning of 
this century—still extol the melodious cadence and 
liquid flow of the essays of the American Addison. 
We ourselves are so old-fashioned as to consider Dennie 
a charming writer. ” Dennie possessed a delicate taste, 
a polished style, a rich fund of information; he did 
much to refine the taste of the people and give them a 
relish for literary pursuits ; but he was deficient in 
industry and discretion, and gradually destroyed, by 
his imprudence, his bodily constitution as well as all 
hopes of fortune. He died in absolute poverty, at the 
early age of forty-four—a victim to anxiety and com¬ 
plicated disease. 

William Wirt, 1772-1834. 

William Wirt, a distinguished lawyer, author of the 
Life of Patrick Henry , was born in Bladensburg, Mary¬ 
land, in 1772. At fifteen, he had qualified himself to 
become a private tutor in the family of a schoolmate, 
who had sounded the praises of his companion to his 
father. In 1795, he took up his residence in Virginia, 
and entered upon public life as clerk of the House of 
Delegates. Under the presidency of Monroe, he be¬ 
came Attorney-General of the United States, an office 
which he filled for twelve years. The earliest of his 
literary productions was his Letters of the British Spy , 
ten in number, mainly occupied with the writer’s 
studies of eloquence, and observations of the leading 
public speakers of the country. He published a large 
number of short essays in the Richmond Enquirer. 
His Life of Patrick Henry , the most important, in its 
subject and interest, of his literary productions, was 
published in 1817. 


476 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


In the latter part of the year 1828, Wirt removed to 
Baltimore, where he resided for the remainder of his 
life. The Anti-Masonic Convention that assembled in 
that city in 1831, nominated him as their candidate for 
the presidency of the United States. Although he ob¬ 
tained the vote of but a single State, it was generally 
admitted that the election of such a man would have 
been an honor to the country. Ho died of an attack of 
erysipelas, in February, 1834. “The Southern tem¬ 
perament,” says Duyckinck, “lives in Wirt’s writings 
—luxuriant, prodigal, self-reproacliful for its uncertain 
pursuit of advantages, imperfect because its own stan¬ 
dard is high—but colored with a warm flush of feeling. 
At the bar, his eminent professional reputation is pre¬ 
served with the annals of our highest courts, and in 
some of their most important causes.” 

John Marshall, 1755-1835. 

John Marshall, author of the Life of Washington , for 
thirty-five years Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of 
the United States, was born in Fauquier County, Vir¬ 
ginia, September 24th, 1755. Although his early edu¬ 
cation was that of a soldier, and comparatively limited, 
his vigorous intellect and judicial mind soon gained 
him eminence in another field of action—the bar. 
When the Constitution of the United States was rati¬ 
fied, in 1788, by the Virginia Convention, he was a 
member of that body, and he ably seconded its provis¬ 
ions. In 1797, he was sent in conjunction with Pink¬ 
ney and Gerry on a mission to the French Directory; 
and, although the attempt at negotiation was unsuc¬ 
cessful, his letters to the subtle Talleyrand, the French 
Minister of Foreign Affairs, are considered as admir¬ 
able specimens of diplomacy. During the short period 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


477 


that he was in Congress, he ranked among the ablest 
of that body. In 1801, he became Chief Justice of the 
United States, an office with which his name is insepar¬ 
ably connected, on account of the learning, intelligence, 
and integrity with which he preserved unsullied till his 
death the purity and sanctity of the ermine. In 1805, 
appeared his Life of Washington in five octavo volumes, 
for the composition of which he obtained valuable orig¬ 
inal papers. As a narrative, it is faithful, conscien¬ 
tious, reliable, and interesting. 

It is impossible to speak too highly of the public and 
private worth of this illustrious man. Remarkable for 
simplicity of manners and kindness of heart, he bore 
public honors as no one more meekly. Anecdotes of 
the simplicity of Chief Justice Marshall are numerous. 
On one occasion, at the old market in Richmond, meet¬ 
ing a fashionably dressed youth who was putting on 
the airs of an exquisite, and hearing him call for some 
one to take home for him a turkey which he had just 
purchased, the judge humorously offered himself. He 
was in his usual plain dress, and the youth, taking him 
for a countryman, accepted his services. The judge 
carried the turkey home, and actually received for his 
trouble a shilling, which proved a very costly retainer 
to the young man in the amount of chagrin he en¬ 
dured, when he found that his porter was the Chief 
Justice of the United States. Marshall's example is a 
beautiful illustration of a truth not always seen or ac¬ 
knowledged by the young; that simplicity is not more 
the inevitable accompaniment and ornament of true 
genius, than it is of true greatness. 

Towards the close of his life, having been for some 
months in feeble health, he visited Philadelphia, that 
he might have the benefit of the most skilful medical 
aid, and died in that city on the sixth of July, 1835. 


478 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Four years later, in 1839, there was published in Bos¬ 
ton a work upon The Federal Constitution, comprising 
Marshall’s leading decisions in the Supreme Court, a 
lasting monument of his learning and wisdom. 

James A. Hillhouse, 1791-1841. 

James A. Hillhouse, principally known as a dramatic 
writer, was born in New Haven, in 1789. He was re¬ 
markable in his boyhood for his strength and dexterity 
in athletic exercises, and for the grace of his deport¬ 
ment. At the age of fifteen he was entered at Yale, 
and maintained a high rank in his studies, particularly 
in English composition. The literary credit which he 
obtained at college by his oration On the Education of 
a Poet, took wider proportions when, in 1812, he pub¬ 
lished his first poem. The Judgment, a Vision, which 
describes the awful scenes of the Last Day. It was re¬ 
ceived with enthusiastic praise on both sides of the 
Atlantic, but it has not kept its ground. For twelve 
years our poet then engaged in commercial pursuits, 
meanwhile producing Percy's Masque, a drama in five 
acts. In the language of W. C. Bryant, his fellow- 
poet, ‘ there is no powerful development of character, 
but the characters are consistent and well sustained.’ 
He was congratulated on having escaped a florid and 
declamatory manner, and advised to study a style still 
more idiomatic and easy. In 1824 came Hcidad, a sa¬ 
cred drama, much praised at the time, and still gener¬ 
ally considered as his best poem. Hillhouse is also the 
author of several orations, the principal of which are 
the Phi Beta Kappa discourse On some of the Consider- 
ations which should influence an Epic or a Tragic 
ivriter in the Choice of an Era ; the Discourse on the 
Relations of Literature to a Republican Government , 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


479 


and that in Commemoration of the Life and Services 
of General Lafayette; they are all characterized as 
thoughtful, energetic, and very polished. 

He died in 1841. 

• 

John England, 1786-1842. 

John England, Bishop of Charleston, a man of tran¬ 
scendent and varied ability, was born in Cork, Ireland, 
in 1786. He received all the advantages that the 
schools of his native city atforded before he reached his 
fifteenth year; and, having consecrated himself to the 
service of the sanctuary, he completed his education at 
the theological college of Carlow. Among his early 
ministerial functions, are mentioned his appointment as 
lecturer at the Cathedral of Cork, and his superintend¬ 
ence, in 1809, of a monthly periodical, The Religious 
Repertory , which he originated with the object of sup¬ 
planting, by a more healthy nutriment, the corrupt lit¬ 
erature current among the people. He was also active 
in various charitable works, and indefatigable in his 
attendance on the victims of pestilence and the inmates 
of prisons. Jn 1812, he took a conspicuous part, as a 
political writer, in the discussion of the subject of 
Catholic emancipation. In 1817, he was appointed 
parish priest of Bandon, where he remained until made 
by the Pope bishop of the newly established See of 
Charleston, embracing the two Carolinas and Georgia. 
He was consecrated in Ireland, but refused to take the 
oath of allegiance to the British government, customary 
on such occasions, declaring his intention to become 
naturalized in the United States. He arrived at Charles¬ 
ton, December 31st, 1820. One of his first acts was 
the establishment of a theological seminary, to which a 
classical and scientific academy was attached. Corre- 


480 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


sponding exertions in behalf of Protestants in the mat¬ 
ter of education, acquired for the bishop the honorable 
title of Restorer of classical learning in Charleston. 

He also rallied about him the chivalry of South Car¬ 
olina, in the formation t)f an Anti-duelling Society, of 
which Gen. Thos. Pinckney, of Revolutionary fame, 
was the venerable president; and found time, amidst 
his various occupations, to establish the United States 
Catholic Miscellany , and supply its columns with a vast 
amount of original matter. 

He was so active in the discharge of his duties and in 
his ordinary movements, that, on his visits to Rome, 
four of which occurred during his episcopate, he was 
called by the Cardinals il vescovo a vapore. It was on 
his return from the last of these journeys that, in con¬ 
sequence of his exertions as priest and physician among 
the steerage passengers of the ship in which he sailed, 
he contracted a disease which impaired his health, and 
terminated fatally in 1842. 

The collected works of Bishop England bear testi¬ 
mony to his literary industry as well as ability. They 
extend to five large octavo volumes of five hundred 
pages each, closely printed in double column. They 
treat principally of controversial and historical matters. 
Among the spirited addresses printed in these volumes, 
we may point particularly to those On Classical Educa¬ 
tion, On the Pleasures of the Scholars , On the Origin 
and History of the Duel , On the Character of Washing¬ 
ton. All his writings, marked as they are by force and 
elegance of style, give but a faint idea of that stirring 
eloquence, interspersed with genuine Celtic wit, which 
seemed ever ready to come forth, and was sure to bring 
together crowds of admiring hearers. 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


481 


THE DUELEIST’S HONOR. 

Honor is the acquisition and preservation of the dignity of 
our nature: that dignity consists in its perfection; that perfec¬ 
tion is found in observing the laws of our Creator; the laws of 
the Creator are the dictates of reason and of religion: that is, 
the observance of what He teaches us by the natural light of 
our own minds, and by the special revelations of His will man¬ 
ifestly given. They both concur in teaching us that individu¬ 
als have not the dominion of their own lives. . . . 

Man, then, has not power lover his own life; much less is he 
justified in depriving another human being of life. Upon 
what ground can he who engages in a duel, through the fear of 
ignominy, lay claim to courage? Unfortunate delinquent! 
Do you not see by how many links your victim was bound to a 
multitude of others ? Does his vain and idle resignation of his 
title to life absolve you from the enormous claims which soci¬ 
ety has upon you for his services,—his family for that support, 
of which you have robbed them, without your own enrich¬ 
ment ? Go, stand over that body; call back that soul which 
you have driven from its tenement; take up that hand which 
your pride refused to touch, not one hour ago. You have, in 
your pride and wrath, usurped one prerogative of God—you 
have inflicted death. At least, in mercy, attempt the exercise 
of another; breathe into those distended nostrils,—let your 
brother be once more a living soul! Merciful Father! how 
powerless are we for good, but how mighty for evil! Wretched 
man! he does not answer,—he cannot rise. All your efforts to 
make him breathe are vain. His soul is already in the pres¬ 
ence of your common Creator. Like the wretched Cain, will 
you answer, “ Am I my brother’s keeper ? ” Why do you turn 
away from the contemplation of your own honorable work ? 
Yes, go far as you will, still the admonition will ring in your 
ears: It was by your hand he fell! The horrid instrument of 
death is still in that hand, and the stain of blood upon your 
soul. Fly, if you will,—go to that house which you have filled 
with desolation. It is the shriek of his widow,—they are the 
cries of his children,—the broken sobs of his parent;—and, 
amidst the wailings, you distinctly hear the voice of impreca¬ 
tion on your own guilty head! Will your honorable feelings be 
content with this ? Have you now had abundant and gentle¬ 
manly satisfaction ? 

31 


482 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Washington Allston, 1779-1843. 

Washington Allston, a writer of elegance, both in 
poetry and prose, and a great historical painter, was 
born at Charleston, South Carolina, in 1779. At the 
age of seventeen, he was sent to New England to com¬ 
plete his education, and was graduated at Harvard Col¬ 
lege, in 1800. • He then returned to Charleston, and 
disposing of his share of the paternal inheritance at 
some sacrifice, with a view to the support of his studies 
abroad, he embarked for London in 1801, and became a 
student of the Royal Academy of Painting, at that 
time under the presidency of Benjamin West. For 
three years, he applied himself closely to the more se¬ 
cret labors of his art, and laid securely the foundations 
of his future eminence. In 1804, he visited Paris, 
where so many masterpieces of art were then collected, 
and after a few months proceeded to Rome to study the 
great masters. In 1811, he resumed his residence in 
London, and produced his first historical picture, the 
Dead Man Revived, which was purchased by the Penn¬ 
sylvania Academy of Fine Arts. Several others of his 
finest paintings ho likewise executed during his sojourn 
in Europe, which extended to 1818. Nor was his pen¬ 
cil alone busy; in 1813, he published a small volume 
entiled The Sylphs of the Seasons, ami other Poems, 
which was republished in this country and gave him a 
high rank among the poets of America. About the 
year 1830, he began the preparation of a course of lect¬ 
ures on art to be delivered before a select audience in 
Boston; but only four were completed, and these did 
not appear until after his death. They show the vig¬ 
orous grasp, the intense love, the keen perception 
which we should naturally look for from such a mas- 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


483 


ter. In 1841, lie published Monaldi, an Italian story 
of jealousy, murder, and madness, much praised for its 
conception and language. 

In the latter part of his life, he was chiefly engaged 
on his great unfinished painting of Balthasar’s Feast, 
though enfeebled by ill health and advancing years. 
Amidst days passed in the exercise of his beautiful art, 
and evenings occupied with literary recreations, or in 
delighting b^ his conversation and singular amenity 
of manners a circle of chosen friends, or of younger 
artists, his life was closed by a sudden but gentle death, 
in 1843, in the sixty-fourth year of his age. 

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. 

All liail! thou noble land, 

Our fathers’ native soil! 

O, stretch thy mighty hand, 

Gigantic grown by toil, 

O’er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore; 

For thou with magic might 
Canst reach to where the light 
Of Plicebus travels bright 
The world o’er! 

The genius of our clime, 

From his pine-embattled steep, 

Shall hail the guest sublime; 

While the Tritons of the deep 
With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. 
Then let the world combine,— 

O’er the main our naval line 
Like the milky way shall shine 
Bright in fame! 

Though ages long have past 
Since our fathers left their home, 

Their pilot in the blast, 

O’er untravelled seas to roam, 


484 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! 

And shall we not proclaim 
That blood of honest fame, 

Which no tyranny can tame 
By its chains ? 

While the language free and bold 
Which the Bard of Avon sung, 

In which our Milton told 

How the vault of heaven rung, 

When Satan, blasted, fell with his host:— 

While this, with reverence meet, 

Ten thousand echoes greet, 

From rock to rock repeat 
Round our coast;— 

While the manners, wdiile the arts, 

That mould ’a nation’s soul, 

Still cling around our hearts,— 

Between let Ocean roll, 

Our joint communion breaking with the sun: 

Yet still from either beach 
The voice of blood shall reach, 

More audible than speech, 

“ We are one.” 

Edgar Allan Poe, 1809-1849. 

This genius, of strange and melancholy interest, was 
born in Boston. His father, a well-born native of 
Maryland, had married, at the early age of eighteen, a 
young English actress. At their death, Edgar, then 
two years old, was adopted by a wealthy merchant of 
Richmond, and the name of his kind benefactor, Allan, 
was thereafter given him. 

His adopted parents having no children, petted the 
beautiful boy, and indulged him in every wish. In 
1816, he was taken to England and placed at a school, 
where he stayed for some years. Returning to Amer¬ 
ica, he continued his studies at the University of Vir- 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


485 


ginia. 'It was here that the fatal fruit of indulgence 
developed into a passion for gambling, whence arose 
the first rupture between the young student and his 
liberal patron. The difficulty reconciled, Poe was per¬ 
mitted to go to West Point, where, soon disgusted 
with military restraints, he deliberately effected his 
own expulsion. After this, came a final breach with 
Mr. Allan, and all hopes of inheritance were blasted 
forever. 

Sensitive, proud, wayward, and melancholy, pam¬ 
pered in all the requirements of wealth to the utter 
neglect of his moral education, Poe was thus suddenly 
thrown on the world. One of the saddest defects in 
his nature was a piteous susceptibility to the influence 
of liquor, in which the slightest indulgence was sure to 
result in excess. 

Under such shadows, the genius of Poe was extorted, 
rather than called into play. His literary record is 
one of long suffering, want, and discouragement; yet 
no American author perhaps has left so enduring a 
name to posterity. “A man,” says Lowell, “whose 
remarkable genius it were folly to deny,” his works 
have attracted much notice abroad, where the kindred 
spirit of Gustave Dore has thrown a new lustre upon 
them. 

Poe’s writings bear always the stamp of originality. 
His Poems and Tales are alike characterized by a keen 
sense of beauty, and subtle power of analysis, and a 
masterly skill of forcible expression. A morbid delight 
in the sombre-grotesque, a ‘ revel in the region of 
sighs/ as he terms it, depresses and thrills with the 
strange power of dreams, and leaves us in almost un¬ 
mitigated gloom. His Hymn to the Mother of God, if 
it truly expresses the author’s religious convictions, is 
the one star that ‘ flickers up to heaven through the 


486 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


night* of his clouded existence. The Raven, The 
Bells, and Annabel Lee, are his best-known poems. 
Among his tales. The Fall of the House of Usher, The 
Gold Bug, The Black Cat, The Murders in the Rue 
Morgue, and The Purloined Letter, are perhaps the 
most celebrated. 

As a critic, Poe is sometimes a cold and cruel dissec¬ 
tor ; but he is never commonplace, never vague, never 
personal, nor cringing. In his short essay on The Poetic 
Principle he points to supernal Loveliness as the ideal 
which the poet’s soul must struggle to apprehend. “ Thus, 
when by poetry, or when by music, the most entrancing of 
the poetic moods, we find ourselves melted into tears, we 
weep then, not through excess of pleasure, but through a 
certain petulant, impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp 
now , wholly, here on earth, at once and for ever, those 
divine and rapturous joys of which, through the poem or 
through the music, we attain to but brief and indeterminate 
glimpses. All that the world has ever been enabled to 
understand and to feel as poetic is the result of a wild 
effort to reach the Beauty above.” Poetry he defines as 
the rhythmical creation of beauty . This highly-gifted but 
unfortunate poet was carried away by brain fever, the 
effect of supposed drugging and exposure. The estimate 
of Poe’s genius has steadily increased, and a monument 
has been solemnly erected over his tomb in the city of 
Baltimore. 

THE HAUNTED PALACE. 

In the greenest of our valleys, 

By good angels tenanted, 

Once a fair and stately palace— 

Radiant palace—reared its head. 

In the monarch Thought’s dominion— 

It stood there! 

Never seraph spread a pinion 
Over fabric half so fair! 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


487 


Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 

On its roof did float and flow, 

(This—all this—was in the olden 
Time long ago.) 

And every gentle air that dallied, 

In that sweet day, 

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 

A winged odor went away. 

Wanderers in that happy valley, 

Through two luminous windows, saw 
Spirits moving musically, 

To a lute’s well-tuned law, 

Round about a throne where, sitting 
(Porphyrogene!) 

In state his glory well-befitting, 

The ruler of the realm was seen. 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 
Was the fair palace door, 

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, 
And sparkling evermore, 

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 
Was but to sing, 

In voices of surpassing beauty, 

The wit and wisdom of their king. 

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 

Assailed the monarch’s high estate, 

(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow 
Shall dawn upon him desolate!) 

And round about his home the glory 
That blushed and bloomed, 

Is but a dim-remembered story 
Of the old time entombed. 

And travellers, now, within that valley, 
Through the red-litten windows see 
Vast forms, that move fantastically 
To a discordant melody, 

While, like a ghastly, rapid river. 

Through the pale door, 

A hideous throng rush out forever 
And laugh, but smile no more. 


488 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


John Caldwell Calhoun, 1782-1850. 

John 0. Calhoun, one of the most influential orators 
and statesmen that the South has produced, was de¬ 
scended from an Irish family settled in the district of 
Abbeville, S. C. From his boyhood, he was serious, ar¬ 
dent, tenacious, and an assiduous reader of history 
and metaphysics. At the age of twenty, he joined 
the Junior class at Yale, aud, two years later, was 
graduated with first honors. He studied law and prac¬ 
tised at the bar, but soon he entered the political field, 
where, for forty-two years, he labored diligently as 
Representative, Secretary of War and of State, Vice- 
President, and Senator. “His eloquence was part of 
his intellectual character. It was plain, strong, terse, 
condensed, concise; sometimes impassioned, still alwayn 
severe." * During the last two years of his life, he com¬ 
posed A Disquisition on Government, and a Discourse 
on the Constitution and Government of the United States, 
which appeared only after his death together with his 
Speeches delivered in the House of Representatives, and 
in the Senate of the United States. Calhoun was ever 
the most decided and uncompromising advocate of free 
trade and State sovereignty. His private life was re¬ 
markable for the simplicity and purity of his tastes, the 
courtesy of his manners, and the force of his conversa¬ 
tion. 


(From the Speech on the Force Bill.) 

It is said that the bill ought to pass, because the law must 
he enforced. The law must be enforced! The imperial edict 
must be executed! It is under such sophistry, couched in gen¬ 
eral terms, without looking to the limitations which must ever 
exist in the practical exercise of power, that the most cruel 
and despotic acts ever have been covered. It was such sophis¬ 
try as this that cast Daniel into the lions’ den, and the three 


* Daniel Webster. 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


489 


innocents into the fiery furnace. Under the same sophistry, 
the bloody edicts of Nero and Caligula were executed. The 
law must be enforced. Yes, the act imposing the 1 tea-tax 
must be executed.’ This was the very argument which im¬ 
pelled Lord North and his administration to that mad career 
which forever separated us from the British crown. Under a 
similar sophistry, ‘ that religion must be protected,’ how many 
massacres have been perpetrated? and how many martyrs have 
been tied to the stake? What! acting on this vague abstrac¬ 
tion, are you prepared to enforce a law without considering 
whether it be just or unjust, constitutional or unconstitutional? 
Will you collect money when it is acknowledged that it is not 
wanted? He who earns the money, who digs it from the earth 
with the sweat of his brow, has a just title to it against the 
universe. No one has a right to touch it without his consent 
except his government, and this only t,o the extent of its legiti¬ 
mate wants; to take more is robbery, and you propose by this 
bill to enforce robbery by murder. Yes: to this result you 
must come, by this miserable sophistry, this vague abstraction 
of enforcing the law, without a regard to the fact whether the 
law be just or unjust, constitutional or unconstitutional. 

James FENiaiORE Cooper, 1789-1851. 

James Fenimore Cooper, the most national of our 
novelists, was born at Burlington, New Jersey, in 1789. 
Ilis boyhood was passed in the neighborhood of Otsego 
Lake, New York, at a frontier homestead surrounded 
by noble scenery, and a population composed of advent¬ 
urous settlers, and the remnant of the Indian tribes 
that were once sole lords of the domain. At thirteen, 
he entered Yale-College, where he remained three years. 
Having obtained a midshipman's commission, he spent 
the following six years in the service of the navy, and 
was thus early familiarized with the two great fields of 
his future literary career. His first production, entitled 
Precaution , made comparatively but little impression. 
In 1821, he published The Spy , a tale of the neutral 
ground, a region familiar to him by his residence with- 


490 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


in its borders. It was followed, two years later, by The 
Pioneers, or the Sources of the Susquehanna . In this 
also the author drew on the early recollections of his 
life. The Pilot, the first of his sea-novels, next ap¬ 
peared. Lionel Lincoln was a second attempt in the 
Revolutionary field of The Spy, but not so suc¬ 
cessful. Then came, in succession. The Last of the Mo¬ 
hicans, The Prairie, The Pathfinder, The Deer Slayer, 
all picturing with spirit and originality scenes of the 
forest and prairie, and incidents of Indian warfare and 
border life. The Red Rover, The Water Witch, The 
Two Admirals, Wing and Wing, together with The 
Pilot, have placed him at the head of nautical novel¬ 
ists, where he still stands perhaps without a.rival. He 
represents the American mind in its adventurous char¬ 
acter. He paints the movements of a ship at sea, as if 
she were indeed a thing of life. He follows an Indian 
trail with the sagacity of a forest-king. His scenes and 
characters are indelibly engraven on the memory. His 
best creations are instinct with nature and truth. 

Besides his novels, Cooper is the author of A Ifistory 
of the Navy of the United States, Gleanings in Europe, 
Sketches of Switzerland, and several smaller works, 
which have run through many editions. 

He was of a manly, resolute nature ; exact in all his 
business relations; generous and noble in the manage¬ 
ment of his means. 

He had in press a historical work on the town of 
Manhattan, when he died of dropsy at his country es- 
state at Cooperstown, in 1851, on the eve of his sixty- 
second birthday. 

ESCAPE FROM A PANTHER. 

Elizabeth Temple and Louisa had gained the summit of the 
mountain, where they left, the highway, and pursued- tlieix 
course, under the shade of the stately trees that crowned the 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


491 


eminence. The day was becoming warm; and the girls plunged 
more deeply into the forest, as they found its invigorating 
coolness agreeably contrasted to the excessive heat they had 
experienced in their ascent. The conversation, as if by mu¬ 
tual consent, was entirely changed to the little incidents and 
scenes of their walk; and every tall pine, and every shrub or 
flower, called forth some simple expression of admiration. 

In this manner they proceeded along the margin of the prec¬ 
ipice, catching occasional glimpses of the placid Otsego, or 
pausing to listen to the rattling of wheels and the sounds of 
hammers, that rose from the valley, to mingle the signs of men 
with the scenes of nature, when Elizabeth suddenly started, 
and exclaimed, “Listen! there are the cries of a child on this 
mountain! Is there a clearing near us ? or can some little one 
have strayed from its parents ? ” 

“ Such things frequently happen,” returned Louisa. “ Let 
us follow the sounds. It may be a wanderer, starving on the 
hill.” Urged by this consideration, the females pursued the 
low mournful sounds, that proceeded from the forest, with 
quick and impatient steps. More than once the ardent Eliza¬ 
beth was on the point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, 
when Louisa caught her by the arm, and, pointing behind 
them, cried, “ Look at the dog!” 

The advanced age of Brave had long before deprived him of 
his activity; and when his companions stopped to view the 
scenery, or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff would lay his 
huge frame on the ground, and await their movements, with 
his eyes closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill accorded 
with the character of a protector. But when, aroused by the 
cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog with 
his eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near 
the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, either 
through fright or anger. It was most probably the latter; for 
he was growling in a low key, and occasionally showing his 
teeth, in a manner that would have terrified his mistress, had 
she not so well known his good qualities. 

“ Brave!” she said, “ be quiet, Brave! what do you see, fel¬ 
low ? ” At the sounds of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, in¬ 
stead of being at all diminished, was very sensibly increased. 
He stalked in front of the ladies, and seated himself at the feet 
of his mistress, growling louder than before, and occasionally 
giving vent to his ire by a short, surly barking. “ What docs 


492 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


he see?” said Elizabeth; “there must be some animal in 
sight.” 

Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss Temple turned 
her head, and beheld Louisa, standing with her face whitened 
to the color of death, and her finger pointing upward, with a 
sort of flickering, convulsed motion. The quick eye of Elizai- 
beth glanced in the direction indicated by her friend, where 
she saw the fierce front and glaring eyes of a female panther, 
fixed on them in horrid malignity, and threatening instant de¬ 
struction. “Let us fly!” exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the 
arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melting snow, and 
sunk lifeless to the earth. 

There was not a single feeling in the temperament of Eliza¬ 
beth Temple, that could prompt her to desert a companion in 
such an extremity; and she fell on her knees, by the side of 
the inanimate Louisa, tearing from the person of her friend, 
with an instinctive readiness, such parts of her dress as might 
obstruct respiration, and encouraging their only safeguard, the 
dog, at the same time, by the sounds of her voice. “ Courage, 
Brave!” she cried—her own tones beginning to tremble— 
“courage, courage, good Brave!” 

A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been unseen, now ap¬ 
peared, dropping from the branches of a sapling, that grew 
under the shade of the beech which held its dam. This igno¬ 
rant but vicious creature approached near to the dog, imitat¬ 
ing the actions and sounds of its parent, but exhibiting a 
strange mixture of the playfulness of a kitten with the feroc¬ 
ity of its race. Standing on its hind legs, it would rend the 
bark of a tree with its fore paws, and play all the antics of a 
cat, for a moment; and then, by lashing itself with its tail, 
growling and scratching the earth, it would attempt the man¬ 
ifestations of anger that rendered its parent so terrible. 

All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, his short tail 
erect, his body drawn backward on its haunches, and his eyes 
following the movements of both dam and cub. At every 
gambol played by the latter, it approached niglier to the dog, 
the growling of the three becoming more horrid at each mo¬ 
ment, until the younger beast, overleaping its intended bound, 
fell directly before the mastiff. There was a moment of fear¬ 
ful cries and struggles; but they ended almost as soon as com 
menced, by the cub appearing in the air, hurled from the jaws 
of Brave, with a violence that sent it against a tree so forcibly 
as to render it completely senseless. 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


493 


Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her blood w r as 
warming with the triumph of the dog, when she saw the form 
of the old panther in the air, springing twenty feet from the 
branch of the beech to the back of the mastiff. No words of 
ours can describe the fury of the conflict that followed. It 
was a confused struggle on the dried leaves, accompanied by 
loud and terrible cries, barks, and growls. Miss Temple con¬ 
tinued, on her knees, bending over the form of Louisa, her 
eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest so horrid, and yet 
so intense, that she almost forgot her own stake in the result. 

So rapid and vigorous were the bounds of the inhabitant of 
the forest, that its active frame seemed constantly in the air, 
while the dog nobly faced his foe at each successive leap. 
When the panther lighted on the shoulders of the mastiff, 
which was its constant aim, old Brave, though torn with her 
talons, and stained with his own blood, that already flowed 
from a dozen wounds, w r ould shake off his furious foe like a 
feather, and, rearing on his hind legs, rush to the fray again, 
with his jaw r s distended, and a dauntless eye. 

But age, and a pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble 
mastiff for such a struggle. In everything but courage, he was 
only the vestige of what he had once been. A higher bound 
than ever raised the wary and furious beast far beyond the 
reach of the dog—v T lio was making a desperate, but fruitless 
dash at her—from which she alighted, in a favorable position, 
on the back of her aged foe. For a single moment only could 
the panther remain there, the great strength of the dog return¬ 
ing with a convulsive effort. 

But Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side of 
his enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck, which had 
been glittering throughout the fray, w r as of the color of blood, 
and, directly, that his frame was sinking to the earth, where it 
soon lay, prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the 
wild-cat to extricate herself from the jaws of the dog followed; 
but they were fruitless, until the mastiff turned on his back, 
his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened; when the short con¬ 
vulsions and stillness that succeeded, announced the death of 
poor Brave. 

Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There 
is said to be something in the front of the image of the Maker, 
that daunts the hearts of the inferior beings of his creation; 

and it would seem that some such power, in the present in- 

* 


494 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


stance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the mon¬ 
ster and the kneeling maiden met, for an instant, when the 
former stooped to examine her fallen foe; next to scent her 
luckless cub. From the latter examination it turned however, 
with its eyes apparently emitting llames of fire, its tail lash¬ 
ing its sides furiously, and its claws projecting for inches from 
its broad feet. 

Miss Temple did not, or could not move. Her hands were 
clasped in the attitude of prayer; but her eyes were still drawn 
to her terrible enemy; her cheeks were blanched to the white¬ 
ness of marble, and her lips were slightly separated with 
horror. The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal 
termination; and the beautiful figure of Elizabeth was bowing 
meekly to the stroke, when a rustling of leaves from behind 
seemed rather to mock the organs than to meet her ears. 

“ Histi hist!” said a low voice; “stoop lower, gal; your 
bunnet hides the cretur’s head.” It was rather the yielding of 
nature, than a compliance with this unexpected order, that 
caused the head of our heroine to sink on her bosom; when 
she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, 
and the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the 
earth, biting its own flesh, and tearing the twigs and branches 
within its reach. At the next instant the form of Leather¬ 
stocking rushed by her; and he called aloud: “ Come in, Hec¬ 
tor; come in, you old fool; ’tis a hard-lived animal, and may 
jump ag’in.” 

Natty maintained his position in front of the maidens most 
fearlessly, notwithstanding the violent bounds .and threatening 
aspect of the wounded panther, which gave several indications 
of returning strength and ferocity, until his rifle was again 
loaded, when he stepped up to the enraged animal, and, plac¬ 
ing the muzzle close to its head, every spark of life was extin¬ 
guished by the discharge. 

Daniel Webster, 1782-1852. 

Daniel Webster, the most distinguished of Ameri¬ 
can statesmen and orators, was born in the town of 
Salisbury, New Hampshire, in 1782. The future ora¬ 
tor received his first education from his mother, and, 
after a short academical training, entered Dartmouth 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


495 


College, in 1797. Here lie overcame by his diligence 
the disadvantages of his hasty preparation, and took 
his degree with good reputation as a scholar, in 1801. 
Upon leaving college, he immediately commenced his 
legal studies, and was admitted to the Suffolk bar, in 
1805. In 1807, he removed to Portsmouth, New Hamp¬ 
shire, where he resided nine years. He was elected 
to Congress in 1813, and at once took his place with 
the solid and eloquent men of the House. In Decem¬ 
ber, 1820, he delivered hie Plymouth oration on the 
first settlement of New England. The first Bunker 
Hill speech w r as delivered June 17th, 1825, when the 
corner-stone of the monument was laid ; the second, 
exactly eighteen years afterwards, on its completion. 
His discourse in commemoration of Jefferson and 
Adams, was pronounced at Faneuil Hall, in 1826. In 
1827, he was elected to the Senate of the United States, 
in which he continued for twelve year’s, during the ad¬ 
ministration of .Jackson and Van Buren, and to which 
he was returned again in 1845. His celebrated orato- 
rial passage with Hayne, of South Carolina, occurred in 
1830 in reply to an attack upon New England, and 
in assertion of the nullification doctrine. The contest 
embodied the antagonism for the time between the 
North and the South'. Hayne, rich in elocution and 
energetic in bearing, was met by the cool argument 
and clear statement of Webster rising to his grand 
peroration, which still furnishes a national watchword 
of union. Under the administration of Harrison, in 
1841, Webster was appointed Secretary of State, and 
asrain under Fillmore in 1850. He was a candidate for 
the Whig nomination to the presidency, but the choice fell 
on General Scott. When Webster was called upon in the 
night, at Washington, by a crowd of citizens to receive 
the news of Scott’s nomination for the presidency, he ad- 


496 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


dressed them in the following beautiful strain: “ Gentle¬ 
men, this is a serene and beautiful night. Ten thousand 
t housands of the lights of heaven illuminate the firmament. 
They rule the night. A few hours hence this glory will 
be extinguished. 

‘ You, meaner beauties of the night, 

Which poorly satisfy our eyes, 

What are you when the sun doth rise ? ’ 

Gentlemen: there is not one among you who will sleep 
better to-night than I shall. If I wake, I shall learn 
the hour from the constellations, and I shall rise in the 
morning, God willing, with the lark ; and though the 
lark is a better songster than I, yet he will not leave the 
dew and the daisies, and spring upward to meet the 
purpling east, with a more blithe and jocund spirit 
than I shall possess.” Yet it has been said and repeated 
that Webster felt a bitter disappointment. 

In May, 1852, he made his last great speech in Faneuil 
Hall to the men of Boston. His death, which occurred 
in October of the same year, excited profound sorrow 
throughout the country. A numerous procession, in¬ 
cluding delegates from various public bodies of several 
States, followed his remains to the tomb built for his 
family and himself. A marble block, since placed in 
front of the tomb, bears the inscription: ‘Lord, I be¬ 
lieve, help thou my unbelief/ 

Webster’s career, as a Senator and Secretary of State, 
was no less illustrious than his professional triumphs ; 
but, as far as literature is concerned, he will be remem¬ 
bered for his state-papers and speeches. We extract 
from Brownson’s Review the following appreciation, 
written in 1852: “We see in every page, every sentence 
of his [Webster’s] writings, vast intellectual power, quick 
sensibility, deep and tender affection, and a rich and 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


497 


fervid imagination; but we see also the hard student, 
the traces of long and painful discipline, under the tu¬ 
telage of the most eminent ancient and modern masters. 
.... He appears always greater than his subject, 
always to have the full mastery over it, and never to be 
mastered or carried away by it. . . . His elocution 
and diction harmonize admirably with his person 
and voice, and both strike you at once as fitted to each 
other. His majestic person, his strong, athletic frame, 
and his deep, rich, sonorous voice, set off with double 
effect his massive thoughts, his weighty sentences, his 
chaste, dignified, and harmonious periods.” 

The country is indebted to Mr. George Ticknor Cur¬ 
tis for an excellent biography of Daniel AYebster, in 
which the statesman, the orator, and the private man, 
are faithfully portrayed. 

TO THE SURVIVORS OF THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 

(From The First Bunker Hill Speech.) 

Venerable men! you have come down to us from a former 
generation. Heaven lias bounteously lengthened out your 
lives that you might behold this joyous day. You are now 
where you stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with your 
brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife 
of your country! Behold how altered! The same heavens are 
indeed over your heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but 
all else, how changed! You hear now no roar of hostile can¬ 
non, you see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from 
burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with the dead and 
the dying; the impetuous charge; the steady and successful 
repulse; the loud call to repeated assault; the summoning of 
all that is manly to repeated resistance; a thousand bosoms, 
freely and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror 
there may be in war and death;—all these you have witnessed, 
but you witness them no mor». All is peace. The heights of 
yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs, which you then saw 
filled with wives, and children, and countrymen, in distress 
32 


498 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for the issue 
of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of its 
whole happy population, come out to welcome and greet you 
with a universal jubilee. Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of 
position appropriately lying at the foot of this mount, and 
seeming fondly to cling around it, are not means of annoyance 
to you, but your country’s own means of distinction and de¬ 
fence. All is peace; and God has granted you this sight of 
your country’s happiness, ere you slumber in the grave for¬ 
ever. He has allowed you to behold and to partake the re¬ 
ward of your patriotic toils; and he has allowed us, your sons 
and countrymen, to meet you here, and in the name of the 
present generation, in the name of your country, in the name 
of liberty, to thank you! 

But, alas! you are not all here! Time and the sword have 
thinned your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, 
Pomeroy, Bridge! our eyes seek for you in vain amidst this 
broke* band. You are gathered to your fathers, and live only 
to your country in her grateful remembrance and your own 
bright example. But let us not too much grieve that you have 
met the common fate of men. You lived at least long enough 
to know that your work had been nobly and successfully ac¬ 
complished. You lived to see your country’s independence es¬ 
tablished, and to sheathe your swords from war. On the light 
of liberty, you saw arise the light of peace, like 

‘ another morn, 

Risen on mid-noon; ’ 

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless. 

But—ah!—him! the first great martyr in this great cause! 
him! the premature victim of his own self-devoting heart! 
him! the head of our civil councils, and the destined leader 
of our military bands; whom nothing brought hither but the 
unquenchable fire of his own spirit; him! cut off by Provi¬ 
dence in the hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick gloom; 
falling, ere he saw the star of his country rise; pouring out 
his generous blood like water, before he knew whether it 
would fertilize a land of freedom or of bondage! how shall I 
struggle with the emotions that stifle the utterance of thy 
name! Our poor work may perish: but thine shall endure! 
This monument may moulder away; the solid ground it rests 
upon may sink down to a level with the sea; but thy memory 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


499 


shall not fail! Wheresoever among men a heart shall he 
found that beats to the transports of patriotism and liberty, 
its aspirations shall be to claim kindred with thy spirit! 
********* 

Veterans! you are the remnant of many a well-fought field. 
You bring with you marks of honor from Trenton and Mon¬ 
mouth, from Yorktown, Camden, Bennington, and Saratoga. 
Veterans of half a century! when in your youthful days you 
put everything at hazard in your country’s cause, good as that 
cause was, and sanguine as youth is, still your fondest hopes 
did not stretch onward to an hour like this! At a period to 
which you could not reasonably have expected to arrive; at a 
moment of national prosperity, such as you could never have 
foreseen, you are now met here to enjoy the fellowship of old 
soldiers, and to receive the overflowings of a universal grati¬ 
tude. 

But your agitated countenances and your heaving breasts 
inform me that even this is not an unmixed joy. I perceive 
that a tumult of feelings rushes upon you. The images of the 
dead, as well as the persons of the living, throng to your em¬ 
braces. The scene overwhelms you, and I turn from it. May 
the Father of all mercies smile upon your declining years and 
bless them! And when you shall here have exchanged your 
embraces; when you shall once morje have pressed the hands 
which have been so often extended to give succor in adversity, 
or grasped in the exultation of victory; then, look abroad into 
this lovely land, which your young valor defended, and mark 
the happiness with which it is filled; yea, look abroad into 
the whole earth, and see what a name you have contributed 
to give to your country, and what a praise you have added to 
freedom ; and, then, rejoice in the sympathy and gratitude 
which beam upon your last days from the improved condition 
of mankind. 


Lydia Huntley Sigourney, 1791-1865. 

Lydia Huntley Sigourney was born at Norwich, 
Connecticut, in 1791. Her father was a man of worth 
and benevolence, and her mother possessed those well- 
balanced unobtrusive virtues of character which 
marked the lady of the olden time. 


500 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


In her earlier years, Miss Iinntley gave evidences of 
uncommon abilities; and, after receiving the best ad¬ 
vantages of education, she put in execution a plan, 
which she had long contemplated, of engaging in the 
work of instruction. In 1814, she was induced to com¬ 
mence a select school at Hartford. In 1815, she gave to 
the public her first productions under the title of Moral 
Pieces in Prose and Verse. The volume was well re¬ 
ceived, and led to the author's engagement as a con¬ 
tributor to various periodicals. 

In 1819, she married Charles Sigourney, a thoroughly 
educated and accomplished merchant of Hartford. 
Her subsequent career was to be that of an author. 
The true interests of her own sex, and the good of the 
rising generation, led her to compose such works as 
Letters to my Pupils , Letters to Young Ladies , Letters 
to Mothers , Child’s Booh , Girl’s Booh , Boy’s Booh , 
How to he Happy , and many other popular juvenile 
works. In 1836, appeared her Zinzendorf and other 
Poems; and, in 1841, Pocahontas and other Poems. 
These productions display a warm sympathy with mis¬ 
sionary effort, and with philanthropic labor of every 
description. A critic in the North American Review, 
pays the following tribute to her poetic talent: “The 
excellence of all her poems is quiet and unassuming. 
They are full of the sweet images and bright associa¬ 
tions of domestic life—its unobtrusive happiness, its 
unchanging affections, and its cares and sorrows; of 
the feelings, naturally inspired by life's vicissitudes, 
from the cradle to the deathbed; of the hopes that 
burn, like the unquenched altar fire, in that chosen 
dwelling-place of virtue and religion." In merit, her 
prose writings equal her poetry, and even give promise 
of longer endurance. 

Mrs. Sigourney has been one of the most voluminous 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


501 


of American female writers, having published from 
forty to fifty different volumes. She died in her sev¬ 
enty-fourth year, at her residence in Hartford, in 1865, 
after an amiable life and cheerful old age, illuminated 
by deeds of kindness and charity. 

SKETCH OF A FAMILY. 

“ I have lost ray whole fortune,” said a merchant, as he re¬ 
turned one evening to his home; “ we can no longer keep our 
carriage. We must leave this large house. The children can 
no longer go to expensive schools. Yesterday, I was a rich 
man; to-day, there is nothing I can call my own.” 

“ Dear husband,” said the wife, “ we are still rich in each 
other and our children. Money may pass away, but God has 
given us a better treasure in these active hands and loving 
hearts.” 

“Dear father,” said the children, “do not look so sober. 
We will help you to get a living.” 

“ What can you do, poor things?” said he. 

“You shall see! you shall see!” answered several voices. 
“ It is a pity if we have been to school for nothing. How can 
the father of eight children bo poor ? We shall work and make 
you rich again.” 

“I shall help,” said a little girl, hardly four years old. “ I 
shall not have any new things bought, and I shall sell my 
great doll.” 

The heart of the husband and father, which had sunk within 
his bosom like a stone, was lifted up. The sweet enthusiasm 
of the scene cheered him, and his nightly prayer‘was like a 
song of praise. 

They left their stately house. The servants were dismissed. 
Pictures and plate, rich carpets and furniture, were sold, and 
she who had been mistress of the mansion shed no tears. 

“ Pay every debt,” said she; “ let no one suffer through us, 
and we may be happy.” 

He rented a neat cottage and a small piece of ground, a few 
miles from the city. With the aid of his sons, he cultivated 
vegetables for the market. He viewed with delight and as¬ 
tonishment the economy of his wife, nurtured as she had been 
in wealth, and the efficiency which his daughters soon acquired 


502 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


under her training. Tlie eldest assisted in the household, and 
also instructed the young children; besides, they executed 
various works which they had learned as accomplishments, 
but which they found could be disposed of to advantage. 
They embroidered with taste some of the ornamental parts of 
female apparel, which were readily sold to a merchant in the 
city. They cultivated flowers, and sent bouquets to market 
in the cart that conveyed the vegetables; they plaited straw, 
they painted maps, they executed plain needlework. Every 
one was at her post, busy and cheerful. The little cottage 
was like a beehive. 

“ I never enjoyed such health before,” said the father. 

“ And I never was so happy before,” said the mother. 

‘‘We never knew how many things we could do, when we 
lived in the grand house,” said the children; “and we love 
each other a great deal better here. You call us your little 
bees.” 

“ Yes,” said the father; ■“ and you make just such honey as 
the heart takes to feed on.” 

Economy, as well as industry, was strictly observed; noth¬ 
ing was wasted. Nothing unnecessary was purchased. The 
eldest daughter became assistant teacher in a distinguished 
seminary, and the second took her place as instructress to the 
family. The dwelling, which had always been kept neat, they 
were soon able to beautify. Its construction was improved, 
and the vines and flowering trees were replanted around it. 
The merchant was happier under his woodbine-covered porch 
on a summer’s evening, than he had been in his showy dress¬ 
ing-room. 

“ We are now thriving and prosperous,” said he; “ shall we 
return to the city? ” 

“ Oh, no! ” was the unanimous reply. 

“Let us remain,” said the wife, “where we have found 
health and contentment.” 

“Father,” said the youngest, “all we children hope you 
are not going to be rich again; for then,” she added, “ we 
little ones were shut up in the nursery, and did not see much 
of you or mother. Now we all live together, and sister, who 
loves us, teaches us, and we learn to be industrious and use¬ 
ful. We were none of us happy, when we were rich and did 
not work. So, father, please not to be rich any more.” 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


503 


William H. Prescott, 179G-1S59. 

William H. Prescott, the most eminent of onr histo¬ 
rians, was born in Salem, Massachusetts, in 179G. He 
received his literary training chiefly in Boston and in 
Cambridge, where he was graduated in 1814. His or¬ 
iginal intention was to devote himself to the profession 
of the law, in the practice of which his father had 
risen to distinction; but an accident at college, caused 
by a crust of bread thrown at random, deprived him of 
the use of one eye, and greatly enfeebled the other. 
In order to procure some alleviation for his misfortune, 
he spent two years in travelling in England and on the 
Continent, consulting the best oculists; but obtained 
no relief. Finding that he could not enter upon a pro¬ 
fessional life, he applied his mind for ten years to a 
course of literary studies, with a view to fit himself for 
the office of historian. He chose for the subject of his 
first work, The Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. It 
was a noble subject, embracing the final overthrow of 
Moslem power in Western Europe, and the discovery of 
America, and was interesting alike to both hemispheres. 
It appeared in 1838, and has been translated into Ger¬ 
man, Italian, French, and Spanish. 

He next gave to the world his Conquest of Mexico, 
published in 1843; and, in 1847, his Conquest of Peru. 
Both of these works were composed largely from manu¬ 
script materials obtained in Spain. Both are written 
in Prescott's most attractive and brilliant style. 

“ The scenic descriptions and portraits of the Spanish 
leaders, and of Montezuma and Guatimoziu, in the 
former work, give it all the charm of an effective ro¬ 
mance." 

His last work, the History of the Reign oj Philip the 


504 


AMERICAX LITERATURE. 


Second, lie did not live to complete. The three pub¬ 
lished volumes comprise about fifteen years of Philip’s 
reign, including in the narrative the battle of Lepanto. 

As the reign of Charles V. is the intermediate link 
between those of Ferdinand and Isabella, and of Philip 
II., Prescott had also given, in 1856, an edition of Rob¬ 
ertson’s Charles V., with a supplement— The Life of 
Charles V. after his Abdication. A portion of Pres¬ 
cott’s minor writings, chiefly contributions to the North 
American Review, were collected by him in one vol¬ 
ume, under the title of Biographical and Critical Mis¬ 
cellanies. 

Prescott’s great merits as a historian have been rec¬ 
ognized and extolled abroad as at home. We quote the 
testimony given by Alison in 1859: “Mr. Prescott was 
by far the first historian of America, and he may justly 
be assigned a place beside the very greatest of modern 
Europe. To the indispensable requisites of such an 
author—industry, candor, and impartiality—he united 
ornamental qualities of the highest grade; a mind 
stored with various and elegant learning, a poetical 
temperament, and great, it may almost be said, unri¬ 
valled, pictorial powers.” We cannot admit in full the 
praise of impartiality here bestowed on the great his¬ 
torian. Indeed, religious prejudice not unfrequently 
mars the beauty of his Histories, and leads him (unwit¬ 
tingly, we like to think,) into manifest injustice toper- 
sons and things Catholic.* 

The character of Prescott was of singular worth. 
With a profound modesty he united a remarkable self- 
denial, and lofty perseverance in duty. Possessed of 
means which placed him above the necessity of labor, 
he devoted his life to one of the most onerous depart¬ 
ments of literary research. 


* See, in Archbishop Spalding’s Miscellanea , Nos. XL, XII., and XIII. 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


505 


He was at his home in Boston when he died suddenly 
of paralysis. 


DESCRIPTION OF THE VALLEY OF MEXICO. 

The Spaniards had not advanced far, when, turning an angle 
of the Sierra, they suddenly came on a view which more than 
compensated the toils of the preceding day. It was that of 
the Yalley of Mexico, or Tenoclititlan, as more commonly 
called by the natives; which, with its picturesque assemblage 
of water, woodland, and cultivated plains, its shining cities, 
and shadowy hills, was spread out like some gay and gorgeous 
panorama before them. In the highly rarefied atmosphere of 
these upper regions, even remote objects have a brilliancy of 
coloring and a distinctness of outline which seem to annihilate 
distance. Stretching far away at their feet, were seen noble 
forests of oak, sycamore, and cedar, and beyond, yellow fields 
of maize, and the towering maguey, intermingled with or¬ 
chards and blooming gardens; for, flowers, in such demand for 
their religious festivals, were even more abundant in this pop¬ 
ulous valley than in other parts of Analiuac. In the centre of 
the great basin were beheld the lakes, occupying then a much 
larger portion of its surface than at present; their borders, 
thickly studded with towns and hamlets, and, in the midst,— 
like some Indian princess with her coral of pearls,—the fair 
city of Mexico, with her white towers and pyramidal temples, 
reposing, as it were, on the bosom of the waters,—the far- 
famed ‘Venice of the Aztecs.’ High over all, rose the royal 
hill of Cliapultepec, the residence of the Mexican monarclis, 
crowned with the same grove of gigantic cypresses, Which at 
this day fling their broad shadows over the land. In the dis¬ 
tance, beyond the blue waters of the lake, and nearly screened 
by intervening foliage, was seen a shining speck, the rival cap¬ 
ital of Tezcuco, and, still further on, the dark belt of porphyry, 
girdling the valley around, like a rich setting which Nature 
had devised for the fairest of her jewels. 

Such was the beautiful vision which broke on the eyes of 
the Conquerors. And even now, when so sad a change has 
come over the scene, when, the stately forests have been laid 
low, and the soil, unsheltered from the fierce radiance of a 
tropical sun, is, in many places, abandoned to sterility; when 
the waters have retired, leaving a broad and ghastly margin 


506 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


white with the incrustation of salts, while the cities and ham¬ 
lets on their borders have mouldered into ruins;—even now 
that desolation broods over the landscape, so indestructible 
are the lines of beauty which Nature has traced on its feat¬ 
ures, that no traveller, however cold, can gaze on them with 
any other emotions than those of astonishment and rapture. 

What, then, must have been the emotions of the Spaniards, 
when, after working their toilsome way into the upper air, the 
cloudy tabernacle parted before their eyes, and they beheld 
these fair scenes in all their pristine magnificence and beauty! 

It was like the spectacle which greeted the eyes of Moses 
from the summit of Pisgah, and, in the warm glow of their 
feelings, they cried out, “ It is the promised land!” 

Washington Irving, 1783-1859. 

Washington Irving, the Goldsmith of America, was 
born in the city of New York, in 1783. He enjoyed 
but an ordinary school education, and, at the age of 
sixteen, commenced the study of law. In 1804, led by 
some symptoms of ill health, he visited the South of 
Europe. Whilst at Rome, he became acquainted with 
Washington Allston, and even meditated for a time 
the profession of painter, for which he had naturally a 
taste. After an absence of two years he returned home, 
and, in conjunction with his brother, William Irving, 
and J. K. Paulding, published a semi-monthy maga¬ 
zine, the since famous Salmagundi . In 1809, was pub¬ 
lished his humorous History of New York by Diedrich 
Knickeidtocker, the first part of which he had sketched 
in company with another brother of his, Dr. Peter Ir¬ 
ving. Though one of the first fruits of Washington 
Irving’s inventive talent. The History of New York 
was not surpassed by any later efforts—successful as 
they were—of its accomplished author. In 1820, ap¬ 
peared The Sketch Book , a series of short tales and es¬ 
says, sentimental and humorous, which was received 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


507 


with great favor both in England and in this country. 
Bracebridge Hall, or the Humorists, another series con¬ 
taining sketches of English rural life and holiday cus¬ 
toms, was brought out in 1822. Two years after, fol¬ 
lowed the Tales of a Traveller; but this work was 
greatly inferior to its predecessors. 

Having gone to Spain in connection with the United 
States embassy, he studied the history and antiquities 
of that romantic country, and published, in 1828, The 
Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus, to which he 
afterwards added the Voyages of the Companions of Co¬ 
lumbus . He owed most of his materials to Navarrete’s 
researches, but he had the undivided merit of that ‘ lu¬ 
cid and attractive form which engages the interest of 
every reader/* We would remark that in one thing 
the biographer of Columbus singularly failed, viz., in 
bringing home to the reader the spirit of faith which 
animated the breast of the great discoverer, which in¬ 
spired him with the zeal to begin and the patience to 
prosecute his mighty design. 

During a tour to the South of Spain, in 1829 and 
1830, Irving procured the materials for his Conquest of 
Granada, and The Alhambra. The Conquest is vested 
with a richness of style and brilliancy of coloring not 
expected in history, and yet not unsuited to the roman¬ 
tic character of the scenes described. There is, run¬ 
ning through the work, a vein of irony against priests 
and monks, that cannot be explained otherwise than by 
a spirit of bigotry, which the author of The Conquest 
so heartily deplores in others. The Alhambra is well 
appreciated in one word by Prescott, when he styles it 
‘ the beautiful Spanish Sketch Book/ After an absence 
of seventeen years, Irving returned to America, where 


* Prescott. 



508 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


he was welcomed by his admiring countrymen as one 
who had conferred imperishable honor upon the Amer¬ 
ican name. His pen, however, did not remain idle. 
The following are the principal works that he wrote in 
the latter part of his life: Tour on the Prairies; Abbots¬ 
ford and New stead Abbey; Legends of the Conquest of 
Spam; Astoria; The Adventures of Captain Bonneville; 
Life of Goldsmith; Mahomet and his Successors, an in¬ 
termixture of fact and legend; Wolf erfs Boost; and 
lastly, the Life of Washington, completed after the 
Psalmist’s limit of threescore and ten, and when grow¬ 
ing infirmities were gathering upon the writer. Hav¬ 
ing survived the summer after his last publication, he 
was suddenly called away, in November, 1859. He died 
at his cottage of Sunnyside, on the banks of the Hud¬ 
son. 

As a man, Washington Irving possessed a most gen¬ 
ial disposition, which was sure to produce attachment 
and esteem. As an author, his merits have been duly 
appreciated by British readers, and warmly acknowl¬ 
edged by British critics, whilst at home he is by unan¬ 
imous consent the most popular of our prose writers. 
If, however, we were to limit ourselves to the merits of 
Irving as a historian or biographer, and compare him 
with the historian of Ferdinand and Isabella, the latter 
must bear away the palm of superiority for extent and 
depth of research, for method and arrangement of mate¬ 
rials, nay, even for propriety and beauty of historical 
style. We conclude by the following just remarks of 
Chambers: “Modern authors have too much neglected 
the mere matter of style, but the success of Mr. Irving 
should convince the careless that the graces of compo¬ 
sition, when employed even on paintings of domestic 
life and the quiet scenes of nature, can still charm as in 
the days of Addison, Goldsmith, and Mackenzie.” 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


509 


PORTRAIT OF WOUTER VAN TWILLER. 

(From Knickerbocker.) 

The renowned Wouter (or Walter) Yan Twilier was de¬ 
scended from a long line of Dutch burgomasters, who had suc¬ 
cessively dozed away their lives and grown fat upon the bench 
of magistracy in Rotterdam, and who had comported them¬ 
selves with such singular wisdom and propriety, that they were 
never either heard or talked of,—which, next to being univer¬ 
sally applauded, should be the object of ambition of all magis¬ 
trates and rulers. There are two opposite ways by which some 
men make a figure in the world: one, by talking faster than 
they think, and the other, by holding their tongues and not 
thinking at all. By the first, many a smatterer acquires the 
reputation of a man of quick parts, by the other, many a dun- 
derpate, like the owl, the stupidest of birds, comes to be con¬ 
sidered the very type of wisdom. This, by the way, is a casual 
remark, which I would not for the universe have it thought I 
apply to Governor Yan Twilier. It is true, he was a man shut 
up within himself, like an oyster, and rarely spoke except in 
monosyllables; but, then, it was allowed he seldom said a fool¬ 
ish thing. So invincible was his gravity, that he was never 
known to laugh, or even to smile, through the whole course of 
a long and prosperous life. Nay, if a joke was uttered in his 
presence, that set light-minded hearers in a roar, it was ob¬ 
served to throw him into a state of perplexity. Sometimes, he 
would deign to inquire into the matter; and when, after much 
explanation, the joke was made as plain as a pikestaff, lie would 
continue to smoke his pipe in silence, and at length, knocking 
out the ashes, would exclaim, “Well! I see nothing in all 
that to laugh about! ” 

The person of this illustrious old gentleman was formed and 
proportioned as though it had been moulded by the hands of 
some cunning Dutch statuary, as a model of majesty and lordly 
grandeur. He was exactly five feet six inches in height, and 
six feet five inches in circumference. His head was a perfect 
sphere, and of such stupendous dimensions that Dame Nature, 
with all her sex’s ingenuity, would have been puzzled to con¬ 
struct a neck capable of supporting it; wherefore, she wisely 
declined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the top of his 
backbone, just between the shoulders. His body was oblong, 


510 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


and particularly capacious at the bottom, which was wisely 
ordered by Providence, seeing that he was a man of sedentary 
habits, and very averse to the idle labor of walking. His legs 
were short, but sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to 
sustain, so that, when erect, he had not a little the appearance 
of a beer-barrel on skids. His face—that infallible index of 
the mind—presented a vast expanse, unfurrowed by any of 
those lines and angles which disfigure the human countenance 
with what is termed expression. Two small gray eyes twink¬ 
led feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser magnitude in 
a hazy firmament; and his full-fed cheeks, which seemed to 
have taken toll of everything that went into his mouth, were 
curiously mottled and streaked with dusky red, like a Spitzen- 
berg apple. 

His habits were as regular as his person. He daily took his 
four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour to each; he 
smoked and doubted eight hours, and lie slept the remaining 
twelve of the four-and-twenty. Such was the renowned Wou- 
ter Van Twiller,—a true philosopher; for his mind was either 
elevated above, or tranquilly settled below, the cares and per¬ 
plexities of this world. He had lived in it for years without 
feeling the least curiosity to know whether the sun revolved 
round it, or it round the sun; and he had watched, for at least 
half a century, the smoke curling from his pipe to the ceil¬ 
ing, without once troubling his head with any of those nu¬ 
merous theories, by which a philosopher would have perplexed 
his brain, in accounting for its rising above the surrounding 
atmosphere. 


Robert Walsh, 1784-1859. 

Robert Walsh was born in Baltimore, in 1784, and re¬ 
ceived his classical education partly at St. Mary’s Col¬ 
lege, of that city, and partly at Georgetown. He was 
then sent to Europe to complete his studies, and re¬ 
mained abroad until his twenty-fifth year. On his re¬ 
turn to America, he commenced the practice of the law, 
but soon turned his whole attention to the career of let¬ 
ters. 

His first productions were contributed to Dennie’s 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


511 


Portfolio. In 1809, he published A Letter on the Gen¬ 
ius and Disposition of the French Government , in which 
he commented severely on the measures of Napoleon. 
The Letter suggested to Lord Jeffrey the following 
words: “ We must all learn to love the Americans, if 
they send us many such pamphlets as the present.” 
Four editions in England are sufficient evidence of the 
favor obtained by the American work. In 1811, Walsh 
began The American Revieio of History and Politics , 
the first quarterly ever attempted in the United States. 
Most of the articles issued during the two years* exist¬ 
ence of the Review, were from the pen of the editor. 
In 1813, he published his Correspondence ivith Robert 
Goodloe Harper respecting Russia , and An Essay on 
the Future State of Europe. Among the best efforts of 
his pen during the years that immediately followed, 
we must mention his elaborate biographical paper on 
Benjamin Franklin, which still remains one of the most 
interesting memoirs of the American sage. In 1819, 
came out his largest work. An Appeal from the Judg¬ 
ments of Great Britain respecting the United States. 
It was an able vindication of the Americans from the 
slanders set forth by hasty, ignorant, and irresponsible 
travellers, and too implicitly indorsed by the British 
press, particularly the London Quarterly and the Edin¬ 
burgh Review. 

In 1821, he started the National Gazette , and during 
his fifteen years* connection with this journal, did much 
to improve the literary character of daily newspapers. 
In the mean time, he wrote for several other periodicals, 
and revived his original Revieio , which he continued to 
edit for ten years with great success. In 1837, he pub¬ 
lished, under the title of Didactics, two volumes con¬ 
sisting of his select editorials and some unpublished pa- 


512 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


pers. In the same year, he removed to Paris, where 
he continued to reside until his death, in 1859. 

Few Americans ever enjoyed more intimate connec¬ 
tion than Robert Walsh with the learned men and pol¬ 
iticians of Europe, or traced with great interest the prog¬ 
ress of government and science. His love of letters ac¬ 
companied him to the end; for years, his frail body had 
seemed to be kept alive by his active zestful intellect. 
An amiable trait in his character was “ his readiness to 
advance young men. Ho petty jealousy ever stopped 
him from seeing and exciting talent in every form.” 

James X. Paulding, 1778-18G0. 

James Kirke Paulding, born in Dutchess County, 
Hew York, received at a village school the only edu¬ 
cation he ever acquired from the tuition of others, so 
that he may be fairly considered a self-made man. 
He remained at home until manhood, when he came to 
the city of Hew l r ork. His sister had married William 
Irving, a merchant of high character, and brother 
to Washington Irving. The intimacy which he con¬ 
tracted with the two brothers, resulted in the publica¬ 
tion of Salmagundi , already noticed on a preceding 
page. In 1816, he gave to the public The Diverting 
History of John Bull and Brother Jonathan , in which 
England and the United States are represented as pri¬ 
vate individuals, father and son, engaged in a domes¬ 
tic feud. He, next, published a poem entitled Lay of 
the Scotch Fiddle, a free parody of The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel. It is clever as a parody, and contains many 
passages of considerable beauty. In 1818, appeared his 
principal poetical production, The Backwoodsman, an 
American poem in sentiment, scenery, and incidents. 
In 1822, he prepared a satire on English travellers in 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


513 


the United States, John Bull in America . This was 
followed by the Traveller’s Guide, a burlesque on the 
grandiloquence of the current Guide-Books. Pauld¬ 
ing’s first novel, KonigsmarTc , was written in 1823. 
The scene is laid among the early Swedish settlers on 
the Delaware. In 1826, he wrote Merry Tales of the 
Three Wise Men of Gotham , satires on Owen’s system 
of socialism, on phrenology, and on the legal maxim 
of Caveat emptor , each exemplified in a separate story. 
The Dutchman’s Fireside , the best of his novels, was 
published in 1831, and was succeeded by Westward Ho ! 
the scene of which is principally laid in Kentucky. 
The last of his avowed publications are The Old Conti¬ 
nental, The Puritan and his Daughter, and some plays. 
In almost all the writings of Paulding, there is infused 
a vein of humorous satire and keen sarcastic irony ; 
and it is sometimes difficult for one not familiarized 
with his manner, to decide when he is jesting, and 
when he is in earnest. 

Paulding presided over the Kavy department during 
almost the entire term of Van Buren’s administration, 
after which he retired to his pleasant country residence 
on the east bank of the Hudson, in Dutchess County, 
where he died, in 1860, retaining his mental faculties 
to the last. The daily routine of Paulding’s life in the 
country, was described by himself in the following 
cheerful summary: “I smoke a little, read a little, 
write a little, ruminate a little, grumble a little, and 
sleep a great deal. I was once great at pulling up 
weeds, to which I have a mortal antipathy. . . . But 
my working days are almost over. I find that carry¬ 
ing seventy-five, years on my shoulders is pretty nearly 
equal to the same number of pounds ; and, instead of 
laboring myself, sit in the shade, watching the labor 
of others, which I find quite sufficient exercise.” 

33 


514 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


MEMOEY AND HOPE. 

Hope is the leading-string of youth; memory, the staff of 
age. Yet, for a long time, they were at variance, and scarcely 
ever associated together. Memory was almost always grave, 
nay, sad and melancholy. She delighted in Silence and repose, 
amid rocks and waterfalls; and, whenever she raised her eyes 
from the ground, it was only to look hack over her shoulder. 

Hope was a smiling, dancing, rosy boy, with sparkling eyes, 
and it was impossible to look upon him without being inspired 
by his gay and sprightly buoyancy. Wherever he went, he 
diffused gladness and joy around him; the eyes of the young 
sparkled brighter than ever at his approach; old age, as it cast 
its dim glances at the blue vault of heaven, seemed inspired 
with new vigor; the flowers looked more gay, the grass more 
green, the birds sung more cheerily, and all nature seemed to 
sympathize in his gladness. Memory was of mortal birth, but 
Hope partook of immortality. 

One day they chanced to meet, and Memory reproached Hope 
with being a deceiver. She charged him with deluding man¬ 
kind with visionary, impracticable schemes, and exciting ex¬ 
pectations that led only to disappointment and regret; with 
being the ignis fatiius of youth, and the scourge of old age. 
But Hope cast back upon her the charge of deceit, and main- 
tained that the pictures of the past were as much exaggerated 
by Memory, as were the anticipations of Hope. He declared 
that she looked at objects at a great distance in the past, he 
in the future, and that this distance magnified everything. 
“Let us make the circuit of the world,” said he, “and try 
the experiment.” Memory reluctantly consented, and they 
went their way together. 

The first person they met was a schoolboy, lounging lazily 
along, and stopping every moment to gaze around, as if un¬ 
willing to proceed on liis way. By and by, he sat down and 
burst into tears. “ Whither so fast, my good lad? ” asked 
Hope, jeeringly. “ I am going to school,” replied the lad, 
“ to study, when I would rather, a thousand times, be at play; 
and sit on a bench with a book in my hand, while 1 long to be 
sporting in the fields. But, never mind, I shall be a man 
soon, and then I shall be as free as the air.” Saying this, he 
skipped away merrily, in the hope of soon being a man. 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


515 


“It is thus you play upon the inexperience of youth,” said 
Memory, reproachfully. 

Passing onward, they met a beautiful girl, pacing slowly and 
with a melancholy air, behind a party of gay young men and 
maidens. They were all gayly dressed in silks and ribbons, 
but the little girl had on a simple frock, a homely apron, and 
clumsy, tliick-soled shoes. “ Why do you not join yonder 
group,” asked Hope, “ and partake in their gayety, my pretty 
little girl?” “Alas!” replied she, “they take no notice of 
me. They call me a child. But I shall soon be a woman, and 
than I shall be so happy!” Inspired by this hope, she quick¬ 
ened her pace, and soon was seen dancing along merrily with 
the rest. 

In this manner, they wended their way, from nation to na¬ 
tion, and clime to clime, until they had made the circuit of the 
universe. Wherever they came, they found the human race, 
who at this time were all young (it being not many years since 
the first creation of mankind), repining at the present, and 
looking forward to a riper age for happiness. All antici¬ 
pated some future good, and Memory had scarce anything to do 
but cast looks of reproach at her young companion. “ Let us 
return home,” said she, “ to that delightful spot where I first 
drew my breath. I long to repose among its beautiful bow¬ 
ers ; to listen to the brooks that murmured a thousand times 
more musically; to the birds that sung a thousand times more 
sweetly; and to the echoes that were softer than any I have 
since heard. Ah! there is nothing on earth so enchanting as 
the scenes of my early youth!” Hope indulged himself in a 
sly, significant smile, and they proceeded on their return 
home. 

As they journeyed but slowly, many years elapsed ere they 
approached the spot from which they had departed. It so 
happened, one day, that they met an old man, bending under 
the weight of years, and walking with trembling steps, leaning 
on his staff. Memory at once recognized him as the youth they 
had seen going to school, on their first onset in the tour of the 
world. As they came nearer, the old man reclined on his staff, 
and looking at Hope, who, being immortal, was still a blithe 
young boy, sighed, as if his heart was breaking. 

“ What ailetli thee, old man?” asked the youth. “What 
ailethme!” he replied, in a feeble, faltering voice. “What 
should ail me, but old age! I have outlived my health and 


516 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


strength; I have survived all that was near and dear; I have 
seen all that I loved, or that loved me, struck down to the 
earth like dead leaves in autumn, and, now, I stand like an old 
tree, withering, alone in the world, without roots, without 
branches, and without verdure. 1 have only just enough of 
sensation to know that I am miserable; and the recollection of 
the happiness of my youthful days, when, careless, and full 
of blissful anticipations, I was a laughing, merry boy, only 
adds to the miseries I now endure.” 

“Behold,” said Memory, “the consequence of thy decep¬ 
tions,” and she looked reproachfully at her companion. “ Be¬ 
hold!” replied Hope, “the deception practised by thyself. 
Thou persuadest him that he was happy in his youth. Dost 
thou remember the boy we met when we first set out together, 
who was weeping on his way to school, and sighed to be a 
man?” Memory cast down her eyes, and was silent. 

A little way onward, they came to a miserable cottage, at the 
door of which was an aged woman, meanly clad, and shaking 
with palsy. She sat all alone, her head resting on her bosom, 
and, as the pair approached, vainly tried to raise it up to look 
at them. “ Good-morrow, old lady, and all happiness to you,” 
cried Hope, gayly; and the old woman thought it was a long 
time since she had heard such a cheering salutation. “Hap¬ 
piness!” said she, in a voice that quivered with weakness and 
infirmity; “ happiness! I have not known it since I was a little 
girl, without care or sorrow. Oh, I remember those delightful 
days, when I thought of nothing but the present moment, nor 
cared for the future or the past, when I laughed, and played, 
and sung, from morning till night, and envied no one, and 
wished to be no other than I was. But those happy times 
are passed, never to return. Oh, could I but once more re¬ 
turn to the days of my childhood! ” The old woman sunk 
back on her seat, and the tears flowed from her hollow eyes. 
Memory again reproached her companion, but he only asked 
her if she recollected the little girl they had met a little time 
ago, who was so miserable because she ^as so young? Mem¬ 
ory knew it well enough, and said not another word. 

They now approached their home, and Memory was on tip¬ 
toe, with the thought of once more enjoying the unequalled 
beauties of those scenes from which she had been so long sep¬ 
arated. But, somehow or other, it seemed that they were sadly 
changed. Neither the grass was so green, the flowers so sweet 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


517 


and lovely, nor did tlie brooks murmur, the echoes answer, nor 
the birds sing half so enchantingly, as she remembered them 
in time past. ‘ ‘ Alas! ” she exclaimed, “how changed is every¬ 
thing! I alone am the same.” “Everything is the same, and 
thou alone art changed,” answered Hope. “ Thou hast de¬ 
ceived thyself in the past, just as much as I deceive others in 
the future.” 

“ What are you disputing about ? ” asked an old man, whom 
they had not observed before, though he was standing close by 
them. “ I have lived almost fourscore and ten years, and my 
experience may, perhaps, enable me to decide between you.” 
They told him the occasion of their disagreement, and related 
the history of their journey round the earth. The old man 
smiled, and, for a few moments, sat buried in thought. He 
then said to them: “ I, too, have lived to see all the hopes of 
my youth turn into shadows, clouds, and darkness, and van¬ 
ish into nothing. I, too, have survived my fortune, my 
friends, my children; the hilarity of youth, and the blessing of 
health.” “And dost thou not despair?” said Memory. 
“ No: I have still one hope left me.” “ And what is that ?” 
“ The hope of heaven! ” 

Memory turned toward Hope, threw herself into his arms, 
which opened to receive her, and, bursting into tears, ex¬ 
claimed, “ Forgive me, I have done thee injustice. Let us 
never again separate from each other.” “ With all my heart,” 
said Hope, and they continued forever after to travel together, 
hand in hand, through the world. 


Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804-1864. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne stands out prominently among 
the most successful of American novelists. He was 
born in Salem, Mass., from parents whose ancestors 
took pride in persecuting Quakers and witches. He 
was graduated at Bowdoin in 1825, in the same class 
with Longfellow. After quitting college, he resided 
many years in Salem, living like a recluse and writing 
wild tales, most of which he burned. The first volume 
that he published, was his Tivice-told Tales , so called 


518 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


from having already appeared in periodicals. It was 
followed, in 1846, by Mosses from an Old Manse , an¬ 
other collection of tales and sketches composed during 
his residence at the ‘ Old Manse , of Concord. Hav¬ 
ing been appointed surveyor of the port of Salem, he 
drew a graphic picture of the old custom-house and its 
inmates, which served as an introduction to his Scarlet 
Letter. This is a romance of rare power, in which he 
describes the manners of early New England times. 
The story, as in most novels, is far from edifying, and 
possesses no moral aim that can satisfy a Christian. 
The Blithedale Romance, which appeared in 1851, delin¬ 
eates the half-communistic scheme attempted ten years 
before at Brook Farm, in West Roxbury, Mass. The 
personages of the romance are fictitious, but illustrate 
‘the general tone, sentiment, hopes, fears, and char¬ 
acter of the establishment.’ Though himself one of 
the originators and actors in the enterprise, he indulges, 
throughout, in a gentle satire at the utopian projects 
of these would-be regenerators of society. The House 
of the Seven Gables, another homely narrative, increased 
still more his reputation. 

In 1853, Hawthorne was appointed consul at Liver¬ 
pool, a post which he filled for four years. After his 
return to America, he published, as the result of his 
observations, The Marble Faun, a romance of Italy, and 
Our Old Home, or sketches of English life. The Mar¬ 
ble Faun, The House of the Seven Gables, and The 
Scarlet Letter, constitute the triple corner-stone of his 
fame. His style is that of a master, highly finished, 
pure, delicate, and forcible. Unfortunately, there runs 
through his writings a deep vein of melancholy, amount¬ 
ing to hopelessness, but the blame for this must rest 
with Protestantism, which has stripped Christianity of 
all that affords consolation to the soul. 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


519 


Hawthorne is also the author of Snow Image ; several 
volumes for young people, as Grandfather’s Chair, 
True Stories, Tanglewood Tales; and Note Books, Amer¬ 
ican, English, French, and Italian, edited after his de¬ 
cease. He was travelling through New Hampshire with 
Ex-President Pierce, his intimate friend, when, one 
morning, he was found dead in his bed. He has been 
thus described by one who knew him well: “He was 
tall and strongly built, with broad shoulders, deep 
chest, a massive head, black hair, and large, dark eyes. 
Wherever he was, he attracted attention by his impos¬ 
ing presence. He was the shyest of men. The claims 
and courtesies of social life were terrible to him.” 

THE INSPECTOR OF THE CUSTOM-HOUSE AT SALEM. 

(From The Scarlet Letter.) 

The father of the custom-house—the patriarch, not only of 
this little squad of officials, but, I am bold to say, of the respect¬ 
able body of tide-waiters all over the United States—was a 
certain permanent inspector. He might truly be termed a legit¬ 
imate son of the revenue system, dyed in the wool, or, rather, 
born in the purple, since his sire, a revolutionary colonel, and 
formerly collector of the port, had created an office for him, 
and appointed him to fill it, at a period of the early ages which 
few living men can now remember. 

This inspector, when I first knew him, was a man of four¬ 
score years or thereabouts, and certainly one of the most Avon- 
derful specimens of wintergreen that you would be likely to 
discover in a lifetime’s search. With his florid cheek, his 
compact figure, smartly arrayed in a bright-buttoned blue 
coat, his brisk and vigorous step, and his hale and hearty as¬ 
pect, altogether he seemed—not young, indeed—but a kind of 
new contrivance of Mother Nature in the shape of man, whom 
age and infirmity had no business to touch. His voice and 
laugh, which perpetually re-echoed through the custom-house, 
had nothing of the tremulous quaver and cackle of an old 
man’s utterance; they came strutting out of his lungs, like the 
crow of a cock, or the blast of a clarion. Looking at him 
merely as an animal,—and there was very little else to look at, 


520 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


—he was a most satisfactory object, from the thorough health¬ 
fulness and wholesomeness of his system, and his capacity, at 
that extreme age, to enjoy all, or nearly all, the delights which 
he had ever aimed at or conceived of. The careless security 
of his life in the custom-house, on a regular income, and with 
but slight and infrequent apprehensions of removal, had no 
doubt contributed to make time pass lightly over him. The 
original and more potent causes, however, lay in the rare per¬ 
fection of his animal nature, the moderate proportion of in¬ 
tellect, and the very trilling admixture of moral and spiritual 
ingredients; these latter qualities, indeed, being in barely 
enough measure to keep the old gentleman from walking 
on all-fours. He possessed no power of thought, no depth of 
feeling, no troublesome sensibilities; nothing, in short, but a 
few commonplace instincts, which, aided by the cheerful tem¬ 
per that grew inevitably out of his physical well-being, did 
duty very respectably and to general acceptance in lieu of a 
heart. He had been the husband of three wives, all long 
since dead; the father of twenty children, most of whom, at 
every age of childhood or maturity, had likewise returned to 
dust. Here, one would suppose, might have been sorrow 
enough to imbue the sunniest disposition through and through 
with a sable tinge. Not so with our old inspector! One brief 
sigh sufficed to carry off the entire burden of these dismal 
reminiscences. The next moment he was as ready for sport 
as any unbreeched infant; far readier than the collector’s 
junior clerk, who, at nineteen years, was much the elder and 
graver man of the two. 

I used to watch and study this patriarchal personage with, I 
think, livelier curiosity than any other form of humanity there 
presented to my notice. He was, in truth, a rare phenomenon; 
so perfect, in one point of view; so shallow, so delusive, so im¬ 
palpable, such an absolute nonentity, in every other. My con¬ 
clusion was that he had no soul, no heart, no mind; nothing, 
as I have already said, but instincts; and yet, withal, so cun¬ 
ningly had the few materials of his character been put to¬ 
gether, that there was no painful perception of deficiency, but 
on my part, an entire contentment with what I found in him. 
It might be difficult—and it was so—to conceive how he should 
exist hereafter, so earthly and sensuous did he seem ; but 
surely his existence here, admitting that it was to terminate 
with Iiis last breath, had been not unkindly given; with no 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


521 


higher moral responsibilities than the beasts of the field, but 
with a larger scope of enjoyment than theirs, and with all their 
blessed immunity from the dreariness and dustiness of age. 


Fitz-Greene Halleck, 1795-1867. 

Fitz-Greene Halleck, one of our best lyric poets, was 
born at Guilford, Connecticut, in 1795. When about 
eighteen years of age, he. became clerk in one of the 
principal banking-houses of New York, and resided in 
that city, engaged in mercantile and kindred pursuits, 
until 1849, when he returned to his native town for the 
rest of his life. At an early age he wrote verses, but 
none that, in his maturer years, he deemed worthy of 
preservation. In New York, his first publication was 
that piece of exquisite versification and refined senti¬ 
ment, the Tioilight, contributed to The Evening Post, 
in 1818. His other best pieces are his elegies on Bums 
and on Drake; Alnwick Castle , in which he celebrates 
the memory of ‘ the Percy’s high-born race ; 9 Fanny, a 
playful satire upon the literature and politics of the 
day; Reel Jacket, the portrait of an Indian chief; and, 
finally, Marco Bozzaris, which raised its author to the 
first rank among the authors of war lyrics. 

Halleck wrote but little, thirty-two poems—about 
4000 lines—forming the whole amount of his works. 
Few American poets, however, have been so highly 
lauded by American critics, few so often read and 
ardently admired in the social circles of the land. The 
following remarks of W. C. Bryant, thus account for 
certain rhythmical inequalities in Halleck’s poetry, 
which have sometimes been censured as ungraceful: 
“ He is familiar with those general rules and principles 
which are the basis of metrical harmony; and his own 
unerring taste has taught him the exceptions which a 


522 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


proper attention to variety demands. He understands 
that the rivulet is made musical by obstructions in the 
channel. In no poet can be found passages which flow 
with more sweet and liquid smoothness; but he knows 
very well that to make this smoothness perceived, and 
to prevent it from degenerating into monotony, occa¬ 
sional roughness must be interposed.” 

MARCO BOZZARIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk lay dreaming of the hour, 

When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power. 

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard; 

Then wore his monarch’s signet ring; 

Then pressed that monarch’s throne, a king; 

As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden-bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranked his Suliote band, 

True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 

There, had the Persian’s thousands stood; 

There, had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

In old Plateea’s day: 

And now, there breathed that haunted air, 

The sons of sires who conquered there, 

With arms to strike, and souls to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

An hour passed on; the Turk awoke; 

That bright dream was his last: 

He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 

“ To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!” 

He woke, to die mid flame and smoke, 

And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And deatli-sliots falling thick and fast, 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


523 


As lightning from the mountain-cloud; 

And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
Bozzaris cheer his band; 

Strike! till the last armed foe expires; 
Strike! for your altars and your fires; 

Strike! for the green graves of your sires; 
God, and your native land!” 

They fought like b\ave men, long and well; 

They piled the ground with Moslem slain; 
They conquered, but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 

His few surviving comrades saw 

His smile, when rung their proud hurra, 

And the red field was won: 

They saw in death his eyelids close, 

Calmly as to a night’s repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal-chamber, Death; 

Come to the mother, when she feels 
For the first time, her first-born’s breath; 

Come, when the blessed seals 
Which close the pestilence, are broke, 

And crowded cities wail its stroke; 

Come, in consumption’s ghastly form, 

The earthquake’s shock, the ocean storm, 
Come, when the heart beats high and warm, 
With banquet song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible; the tear, 

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 

And all we know, or dream, or fear 
Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 
Has won the battle for the free, 

Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word, 

And in its hollow tones are heard 
The thanks of millions yet to be. 

Bozzaris! with the storied brave, 

Greece nurtured in her glory’s prime, 

Best thee; there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 


524 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


We tell tliy doom without a sigh, 

For thou art Freedom’s now, and Fame’s 
One of the few, the immortal names, 
That were not born to die. 


Jared Sparks, 1794-1866. 

Jared Sparks, whose numerous literary labors are so 
honorably connected with American history and biog¬ 
raphy, was born at Willington, Connecticut, in 1794. 
Having, in early life, to contend with straitened cir¬ 
cumstances, he spent several years in the work of a 
farm and in mechanical pursuits; and it was not till he 
had passed the age of boyhood, that he succeeded in 
obtaining a collegiate education. He was graduated at 
Harvard, in 1811, and, later on, studied divinity in the 
University. In 1819, he was appointed pastor of a 
Unitarian Church, in Baltimore, and, whilst there, pub¬ 
lished a number of controversial writings called forth 
by the necessity of maintaining and defending his re¬ 
ligious views. In 1823, he resigned his pastoral charge, 
and, returning to the North, became sole proprietor 
and editor of the North American Review, which he 
conducted till 1830. He was McLean Professor of 
Ancient and Modern History at Harvard for eleven 
years, and the President of the same University from 
1849 until 1853, when he resigned. 

The following are Sparks’s principal publications : 
fifty-two articles contributed to the North American 
Review ; Memoirs of Ledyard , the American traveller ; 
Life and Writings of Washington , in ten volumes ; 
Life and Writings of Benjamin Franklin ; The Library 
of American Biography , in twenty-five volumes, contain¬ 
ing sixty lives, eight of which were written by the edi¬ 
tor ; Diplomatic Correspondence of the American Revo¬ 
lution, in twelve volumes, besides four others under 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


525 


tlie title of Correspondence of the American Revolutio 7 i; 
Life of Gouverneur Morris, in three volumes. As a 
scholar. Sparks was remarkable for industry, persever¬ 
ance, and patient research. No degree of labor could 
divert him from his task. Ilis character was a union of 
simplicity and unassuming dignity, and his sweetness of 
temper made friends of all who knew him. The even¬ 
ing of his days was passed in the leisurely prosecution 
of the literary pursuits which had been the delight of 
his life. He died at Cambridge, in I860. 

George Ticknor, 1791-1871. 

George Ticknor, the distinguished historian of Span¬ 
ish literature, was born in the city of Boston, in 1791. 
He received his degree at Dartmouth, at the early age 
of sixteen, and, justly considering this as the begin¬ 
ning only, not the completion, of his education, he oc¬ 
cupied himself for the following three years in dili¬ 
gently studying the ancient classics. At the age of 
nineteen, he began to prepare for the profession of the 
law, and, after the usual term, was admitted to the bar ; 
his literary taste, however, led him in another direc¬ 
tion, and he determined to become a scholar in the 
best sense of the term. With this view, he sailed for 
Europe, in 1815, and, during four years, he lost no time 
in availing himself of the precious advantages, which 
the well-filled libraries and university lectures afforded 
to his ardent zeal for instruction. During his absence, 
he was appointed the first incumbent of a new professor¬ 
ship, founded at Harvard, of French and Spanish litera¬ 
ture. His lectures, delivered from year to year, on 
French and Spanish literature, on particular authors, 
as Dante and Goethe, on the English poets, and other 
kindred topics, excited the deepest interest, and en- 


526 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


kindled among the students an enthusiasm for modern 
literature which formed an era in the history of that 
venerable seat of learning. 

After fifteen years, passed in these literary studies at 
Harvard, Ticknor resigned his professorship, and paid 
a second visit to Europe. In 1840, after his return to 
America, he commenced his important work, The His¬ 
tory of Spanish Literature , and published it in 1849, in 
three octavo volumes. The work at once took its posi¬ 
tion among the most valuable contributions to the his¬ 
tory of literature. Humboldt has characterized it as a 
masterly work ; and the Edinburgh Review remarked 
that “ perhaps of all the compositions of the kind, Mr. 
Ticknor’s work has the most successfully combined 
popularity of style with sound criticism and extensive 
research within its own department. ” In addition to 
the research and display of critical powers required in 
such a work, Ticknor took no inconsiderable care in 
translating both prose and poetry. In this respect, his 
labors are acknowledged to be exact and felicitous. 

Besides this history, Ticknor wrote a number of 
minor works and essays, among which we may notice a 
Memoir of Nathan Appleton Haven , and Remarks on 
the Life and Writings of Daniel Webster. But pre-em¬ 
inent above all these, and next only to the History of 
Spanish Literature , is his Life of Prescott. It is per¬ 
haps the best biography in our literature. It is the 
work of an accomplished scholar, who draws his facts 
from intimate personal knowledge, inspirited by sym¬ 
pathy of thought and feeling, and yet whose disciplined 
taste always keeps within the proper bounds of a dis¬ 
criminating biographer. We cannot conclude without 
mentioning the zeal displayed by Mr. Ticknor in the 
preparation and management of the Boston Public Li¬ 
brary, which, under his fostering care, has grown to be 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


527 


one of tlie best selected, and, next to that of Congress, 
the largest in the country. 

Martin John Spalding, 1810-1872. 

Martin John Spalding was born near Lebanon, Ken¬ 
tucky, in 1810. His parents were natives of Maryland, 
and removed to Kentucky, in 1790. He received his 
education at St. Mary’s Seminary, in the latter State, 
and was afterwards admitted into St. Joseph’s Semi¬ 
nary, Bardstown, as a student for Holy Orders. In 
1830, he went to Rome and entered the celebrated Ur¬ 
ban College of the Propaganada, where he passed four 
years in the diligent study of philosophy and theology. 
At the end of his course, he made a publicd efence of 
theology and canon-law, maintaining for seven hours, 
in the Latin language, two hundred and fifty-six prop¬ 
ositions, or theses. Cardinal Angelo Mai presided at 
this interesting dispute, and Doctor, afterwards. Car¬ 
dinal Wiseman, Monsignor Mezzofanti, and Father Pert- 
rone, were among the disputants whom the young 
American had to contend against. He did not fail or 
hesitate in a single answer. At the end of the discus¬ 
sion, “the Cardinals rose, and shook hands with the 
Kentuckian, who was carried away by his fellow- 
students in triumph.”* He entered on his missionary 
duties as pastor of St. Joseph’s Church, at Bardstown, 
became President of St. Joseph’s College in 1843, was 
transferred as assistant priest to the Louisville Cathe¬ 
dral, and, five years later, was consecrated as coadjutor 
of the venerable Bishop Flaget, of Louisville. Bishop 
Spalding spent sixteen years in Louisville, where he 
acquired great distinction by his many works of a re- 


* Letter of Bishop England to the Catholic Miscellany, 1834. 



528 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


ligions and literary character. In 1864, by his ap¬ 
pointment as successor to Archbishop Kenrick, of the 
Metropolitan See of Baltimore, he became Primate of 
Honor of the Roman Catholic Church in the United 
States, thereby enjoying official precedence on all the 
other prelates. 

Ur. Spalding was a prolific writer of varied powers. 
His principal works are Sketches of the Early Catholic 
Missions of Kentucky ; The Life and Times of Bishop 
Flaget; A Review of d’Anbigne’s History of the Ref¬ 
ormation, which he afterwards enlarged, making it 
embrace The History of the Protestant Reformation in 
all Countries; Miscellanea, a collection of the Reviews, 
Essays, and Lectures, prepared by the author at dif¬ 
ferent times, and which, in their varied range, treat 
on some fifty different subjects ; and his Lectures on 
the Evidences of Catholicity. One of his last produc¬ 
tions was the Pastoral on the Dogma of Infallibility, 
written in Rome immediately after the Definition, and 
which has been widely read and admired in Europe and 
America. Some of Dr. Spalding’s works are more pro¬ 
found, and display deeper research than the Miscel¬ 
lanea ; but that is his most popular volume. It is writ¬ 
ten in a strain of discursive criticism, and is remarkable 
for its happy olfhand treatment of the leading ques¬ 
tions of the age, literary, religious, social, and histori¬ 
cal. Perhaps the most elaborate of the essays in the 
Miscellanea, is the review of Daniel Webster’s Second 
Bunker Hill Oration. The extract which we give be¬ 
low, will indicate the tone and style of its author. 

Archbishop Spalding died at his mansion in Balti¬ 
more, on the 7th of February, 1872. No such wide¬ 
spread manifestations of regret as his death called 
forth, had been evoked in the Monumental City since 
the death of Charles Carroll of Carrollton. 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


529 


(From Lecture on Webster's Bunker Hill Speech.) 

Mr. Webster’s Bunker Hill speech is emphatically a great 
oration. It bears the impress of his mighty mind. What, for 
instance, could excel in beauty and strength, his character of 
Washington? Or what could surpass, in stirring interest, his 
appeal to the feelings of his countrymen, in the peroration? 

Notwithstanding our admiration of Mr. Webster’s talents, 
we do not precisely place him at the head of the list of Ameri¬ 
can orators. He wants the pathos of Preston, the electric ra¬ 
pidity of Calhoun, and the versatile graces and manifold excel¬ 
lences of Clay. But in massive volume of thought, in depth 
and closeness of reasoning, and in the eloquence of the head , 
he is scarcely equalled, certainly not surpassed, by any. This 
is his forte, and it manifests itself on all occasions, whether 
he is called on to defend the Union and the Constitution, or to 
vindicate his own State of Massachusetts. With him, the flow¬ 
ers of rhetoric and appeals to feeling are but secondary things; 
he uses them with considerable effect, when they come in his 
way, but he would not move one step from his path to cull all 
the flowers of a whole parterre. These remarks are intended 
to apply at least as much to the manner as to the matter of 
his Bunker Hill speech. This contains much that we admire, 
but much also to which a love of truth compels us to object. 
On the occasion of inaugurating a monument commemorative 
of a struggle which led to a nation’s freedom, we could have 
wished to see greater enlargement of views in the orator se¬ 
lected to give expression to the feelings of the day. We would 
have looked for a loftier tone of moral feeling, as well for less 
sweeping and more accurate statements of facts. Why give 
so undue a prominence to the ‘ Pilgrim Fathers,’ and their 
immediate Puritan descendants, who, if there be any truth 
in history, were anything but the friends of, at least, religious 
liberty? Why hold up this narrow-minded and exclusive peo¬ 
ple, of blue-law and witcli-hanging memory, as very paragons 
of perfection for a nation of enlightened freemen? Why not 
at least temper their eulogy with some qualifying remarks? 
Why, in speaking of the origin and characteristics of our free 
institutions, pass over in utter silence William Penn and Lord 
Baltimore, who, in Pennsylvania and Maryland, did at least as 
much for civil liberty as the Pilgrims, and much more than 
they for religious liberty? 

31 


530 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Orestes A. Brownson, 1803-1876. 

The name of Dr. Brownson recalls to our memory one 
of the most powerful intellects that America has pro¬ 
duced. Either in search after truth or in its defence, 
he wielded the pen with ceaseless activity for fifty years. 
In the maturity of his mind, he was forced to acknowl¬ 
edge the authority of the Catholic Church, and, from 
that moment till his death, he obeyed her precepts with 
the simplicity of a child. To sacrifice for her a wide 
popularity, the prospects of fortune, and the ties of 
old friendship, was as nothing to him. His highest 
ambition was to consecrate in her service his time, his 
strength, and the resources of his mind. 

Dr. Brownson was born at Stockbridge, Vermont, but 
brought up at Royalton. The aged couple who adopted 
him, on account of his father's death and mother's 
poverty, trained him according to their own strict rule 
of old-fashioned Puritanism. He has recorded of 
himself that “debarred from all the sports, plays, and 
amusements of children, he had the manners, the 
tone, and tastes of an old man, before he was a boy." 
At an early age he had learned to read, but from his 
fourteenth year not only did he support himself by 
his own exertions, but even procured the means of 
studying for a time at an academy, in Ballston, N. Y. 
It was principally by his own private efforts, his con¬ 
stant application to reading, reflecting, and writing, 
that he brought out the latent genius that was in him. 

We will not follow him through the various phases 
of-his religious wanderings, wdiich he has admirably 
described in The Convert. A Congregationalist, a 
Presbyterian, a Universalist, a Rationalist, and a So¬ 
cialist, he was everything in turn and satisfied with 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


531 


nothing, until he found in the Catholic Church the 
solution of all his doubts, and the solace of all his 
troubles. During the twenty years previous to his 
conversion, he was an assiduous contributor to many 
periodicals, and gradually rose to eminence and popu¬ 
larity both as a writer and a preacher. 

In politics also, he took an active and prominent part, 
but was too independent to be held by the chains of 
partisanship. He was then “in the full enthusiasm 
of youth, with a magnificent physique, a powerful 
voice, unconquerable energy, fiery, fearless, and terri¬ 
bly in earnest.” * He successively edited the Gospel 
Advocate and the Philanthropist; and founded, in 1838, 
a Review of his own, the Boston Quarterly , which after 
five years he merged into the Democratic Review. What 
is known as Brownson’s Quarterly Revieiv was started in 
the beginning of 1844, nearly one year before his con¬ 
version. A writer in the Catholic World has said with 
truth that “it was only as a Catholic publicist that he 
became a truly great man, and achieved a great work, 
for which he deserves to be held in lasting remem¬ 
brance.” f Henceforward all the efforts of his pen 
were devoted to the defence of Catholic principles. 
He accomplished the enormous task of supporting his 
Review almost single-handed during twenty years; and 
after an interruption of nine years (1864-1873), daring 
which he contributed many articles to the' Catholic 
World and the New York Tablet, he revived its publi¬ 
cation for three years more. 

The power of Dr. Brownson as a writer lies princi- 


* From a sketch of Dr. Brownson by his daughter, the late Mrs. Sarah 
Tenney. 

t 1876, p. 369. The estimate there given of Dr. Brownson’s character, with 
his merits and demerits, is a fair rendering of Catholic opinion. We owe 
credit to the writer for several of our remarks. 



532 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


pally in tlie exposition of the fundamental principles 
of faith or reason. When he developed these princi¬ 
ples and their consequences, he appeared as if armed 
with the club and might of Hercules, with which he 
crushed the Hydra of error with its several heads of 
heresy, infidelity, and atheism. “ His style was as 
clear and forcible as the train of thought and rea¬ 
soning of which it was the expression.” A certain 
childlike simplicity and candor, an apparent love of 
truth which sought for no disguise, and a boldness of 
spirit which took no account of earthly considerations, 
gave to his writings a singular charm and influence. 

There is, however, a shade in the picture of this 
great man. The want of a regular course of studies in 
his youth, the lack of a thorough Catholic training, and 
the necessity of hurrying his articles through the press, 
made him liable to “hasty and crude statements, to 
inaccuracies and errors, to changes and modifications 
in his views and opinions.” At one period of his life, 
he so far leaned towards Liberalism , that Catholics 
nearly lost confidence in him, and the suspension of 
his Revieto became a necessity. His faith, however, 
never faltered for a moment, and his conduct in regard 
to the sacraments and practices of the Church, was 
always that of a fervent Christian. “ I have,” he said 
in 1875, “and I desire to have, no home out of the 
Catholic Church, with which I am more than satisfied, 
and which I love as the dearest, tenderest, and most 
affectionate mother.” 

Among the valuable essays published in the Re - 
view, we cannot appreciate too highly those that con¬ 
cern the nature and foundation of society, its relation 
to the Church of Jesus Christ, the duties of all govern¬ 
ments towards the Church, and her visible head on 
earth. It was one of Brownson’s favorite ideas, which 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


533 


should bo well weighed by students of history, that no 
history can be true, i.e., can give a true account of 
facts in their real order and significance, which is not 
written from the Catholic point of view. Before his 
conversion, he wrote Charles Elwood; or , The Infidel 
Converted , a philosophical treatise in the form of a 
novel, the object of which was to elicit thought on 
radical changes in society. In 1854, when the world 
was so much stirred by spiritism, he issued The Spirit 
Rapper , in which some of the chief phenomena pro¬ 
duced by spirits, are narrated, analyzed, and traced to 
their real author, the arch-fiend, the father of lies, and 
enemy of the human race. In 1857, he published The 
Convert , which is a detailed account of his religious 
wanderings, and subsequent rest within the pale of the 
Catholic Church. The American Republic is Dr. Brown- 
son's most remarkable production, the fruit of a life¬ 
time of intellectual labors. After an extensive intro¬ 
duction on the nature and origin of political author¬ 
ity, whatever its form, he examines the Constitution, 
tendencies, and destiny of the United States, according 
to the principles furnished by Christian philosophy. 
It is undoubtedly the deepest and soundest work on 
American politics. It ought to be read and studied by 
every American who takes an interest in the history 
and destiny of his country. The work, dedicated to 
the historian Bancroft, was mainly written for the 
Catholic youth in our colleges, and to them the second 
edition (1873) was rededicated. Liberalism and the 
Church is a small volume of conversations, in which he 
refutes the false modern ideas of progress and civili¬ 
zation, and the errors peculiar to Liberal Catholics, so 
called. It showed that his former tendency to Liberal¬ 
ism was an accident of his life, in direct opposition to 
the deepest convictions of his soul. 


534 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


At the end of 1875, the infirmities of old age com¬ 
pelled him to close the Review. He died, a few months 
later, provided with the last sacraments of the Church. 

His works have since been collected and edited by 
one of his sons, Major H. F. Brownson. A great thinker, 
a great writer, and a great Christian, Orestes A. Brown- 
son is justly looked upon as one of America’s most illus¬ 
trious sons. 

THE POSITIVE OFFICE OF GOVERNMENT. 

(From The Republic.) 

Government exists in heaven as well as on earth, and in 
heaven in its perfection. Its office is not purely repressive, to 
restrain violence, to redress wrongs, and to punish the trans¬ 
gressor. It has something more to do than to restrict our nat¬ 
ural liberty, curb our passions, and maintain justice between 
man and man. Its office is positive as well as negative. It is 
needed to render effective the solidarity of the individuals of 
a nation, and to render the nation an organism, not a mere 
organization—to combine men in one living body, and to 
strengthen all with the strength of each, and each with the 
strength of all—to develop, strengthen, and sustain individual 
liberty, and to utilize and direct it to the promotion of the 
common weal—to be a social providence, imitating in its order 
and degree the action of the Divine Providence itself ; and, 
while it provides for the common good of all, to protect each, 
the lowest and meanest, with the whole force and majesty of 
society. It is the minister of wrath to wrong-doers, indeed; 
but its nature is beneficent, and its action defines and protects 
the right of property, creates and maintains a medium in 
which religion can exert her supernatural energy, promotes 
learning, fosters science and arts, advances civilization, and 
contributes as a powerful means to the fulfilment by man of 
the Divine purpose in his existence. Next after religion, it is 
man’s greatest good; and even religion without it can do only 
a small portion of her work. They wrong it who call it a nec¬ 
essary evil ; it is a great good, and instead of being distrusted, 
hated, or resisted, except in its abuses, it should be loved, re¬ 
spected, obeyed, and, if need be, defended at the cost of 
earthly goods, and even of life itself. 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


535 


LOYALTY TO GOVERNMENT. 

Government being not only that which governs, but that 
which has the right to govern, obedience to it becomes a 
moral duty, not a mere physical necessity. The right to gov¬ 
ern and the duty to obey are correlatives, and the -one cannot 
exist or be conceived without the other. Hence loyalty is not 
simply an amiable sentiment, but a duty, a moral virtue. Trea¬ 
son is not merely a difference in political opinion with the 
governing authority, but a crime against the sovereign, and a 
moral wrong; therefore, a sin against God, the Founder of the 
moral law. Treason, if committed in other countries, unhap¬ 
pily has been more frequently termed by our countrymen pa¬ 
triotism, and loaded with honor, than branded as a crime, the 
greatest of crimes, as it is, that human governments have au¬ 
thority to punish. The American people have been chary of 
the word loyalty, perhaps because they regard it as the correl¬ 
ative of royalty; but loyalty is rather the correlative of law, 
and is in its essence love and devotion to the sovereign author¬ 
ity, however constituted or wherever lodged. It is as neces¬ 
sary, as much a duty, as much a virtue in republics as in mon¬ 
archies; and nobler examples of the most devoted loyalty are 
not found in the history of the world than were exhibited in 
the ancient Greek and Roman republics, or than have been ex¬ 
hibited by both men and women in the young republic of the 
United States. Loyalty is thehighest, noblest, and most gen¬ 
erous of human virtues, and is the human element of that 
sublime love or charity which, the inspired Apostle tells us, is 
the fulfilment of the law. It has in it the principle of devotion, 
of self-sacrifice, and is, of all human virtues, that which ren¬ 
ders man most Godlike. There is nothing great, generous, 
good, or heroic, of which a truly loyal people are not capa¬ 
ble, and nothing mean, base, cruel, brutal, criminal, detest¬ 
able, not to be expected od a really disloyal people. Such a peo¬ 
ple no generous sentiment can move, no love can bind. It 
mocks at duty, scorns virtue, tramples on all rights, and holds 
no person, nothing, human or divine, sacred or inviolable. 

William Cullen Bryant, 1794-1878. 

William Cullen Bryant, a poet of national reputa¬ 
tion, was born at Cummington, Massachusetts, in 1794. 


536 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


He began to write verses at nine; and, at the age of 
fourteen, published The Embargo, a poetical satire lev¬ 
elled at the Jeffersonian politics. Its success was such 
as to call for a second edition within a few months. 
At home, the genius of the young poet received a wise 
direction from the good taste of his father, and, at Wil¬ 
liams College, he laid up a rich store of classical learn¬ 
ing. He now turned his attention to the study of the 
law, was admitted to the bar, and practised for ten 
years with more than ordinary success. 

Bryant did not, however, during the period of his 
professional studies, neglect the cultivation of his po¬ 
etic talent. He was not yet nineteen, when he wrote 
Thanatopsis , a short poem of only eighty blank verses, 
but one that bids fair for the literary immortality of 
its author. Nor did this production stand alone : the 
Inscription for an Entrance into a Wood followed in 
1813, and the Waterfowl, in 1816. In 1821, he wrote 
his longest poem. The Ages, which w T as delivered be¬ 
fore the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College. 
It is a didactic poem: it reviews the progress of past 
ages, and closes with a fair picture of American scenery, 
and the present occupation of this country by a new 
race. In 1825, Bryant abandoned the law for litera¬ 
ture, and became editor of a monthly periodical in New 
York; but, on the year following, he took the manage¬ 
ment of The Evening Post, a daily paper, which he 
kept till his death. His prose writings, including 
the Letters of a Traveller, which he sent to the Post 
in his visits of the Old W r orld, are marked by neatness, 
simplicity, and purity of style. We must, however, 
take exception to another series of communications 
made in his paper, in which he seems to delight in 
disparaging the Catholic Church in Mexico. 

At the request of the New Y r ork Historical Society, 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


537 


he delivered, in 1860, an Address on the Life, Charac 
ter, and Genius of Washington Irving. 

Besides the poetical gems already mentioned, Bryant 
produced many others, such as The Conqueror's Grave, 
June, The Land of Dreams, The Voice of Autumn, An 
Indian at the Grave of his Fathers, the Death of the 
Flowers, The Prairies, the Hymn of the City, The Bat¬ 
tle-field , The Disinterred Warrior. It has been justly 
observed that his poems are strictly American. In the 
v/ords of his son-in-law, Parke Godwin, “ They are 
American in their subjects, imagery, and spirit. . . . 
What the author has seen, or what has been wrought 
in his own mind, he has written, and no more. His 
skies are not brought from Italy, nor his singing birds 
from the tropics, nor his forests from Germany or re¬ 
gions beyond the pole.” “Bryant’s writings,” says Ir¬ 
ving, “transport us into the depths of the solemn pri¬ 
meval forest, to the shores of the lonely lake, the banks 
of the wild, nameless stream, or the brow of the rocky 
upland, rising like a promontory from amidst a wide 
ocean of foliage; while they shed around us the glories 
of a climate fierce in its extremes, but splendid in all 
its vicissitudes.” We add that, in a religious point of 
view, Bryant, like so many other moralists of our time, 
does not rise above the teachings of natural religion. 

By his translation of the Iliad, he proved that his 
scholarship was equal to his poetical genius. Indeed, 
it is confidently asserted that “he has made the best 
translation of Homer in our language, and, with one 
exception, the very best extant.” 

The regret has been frequently expressed that Bry¬ 
ant chose to scatter his brilliance amidst a constellation 
of little poetic stars, rather than to concentrate the 
light of his genius in some immortal work, which, 
as a planet in the literary horizon, should shine to the 
latest generation. 


538 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


THANATOPSIS. 

To him, who, in the love of Nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language; for his gayer hours 
She lias a voice of gladness, and a smile, 

And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 

Into his darker musings, with a mild 

And gentle sympathy, that steals away 

Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 

Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 

Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;— 

Go forth into the open sky, and list 
To Nature’s teaching, while from all around— 

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,— 
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course; nor yet, in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form was laid with many tears. 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements, 

To be a brother to the insensible rock, 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor could’st thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, 
The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good, 

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, 
Eock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 

The venerable woods; rivers that move 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


539 


In majesty, and the complaining brooks 

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all 

Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste— 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe, are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save its own dashing—yet—the dead are there; 

And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep; the dead reign there alone. 

So slialt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed w r ith thee. As the long train 
Of ages glides away, the sons of men, 

The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, 

And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man,— 
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, 

By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 


540 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Richard Henry Dana, 1787-1879. 

Richard Henry Dana, Sr., favorably known as a 
poet and essayist, was born at Oambiidge, of an old 
and honored family in Massachusetts. He spent three 
years at Harvard, after which he applied to the study 
of the law. He was admitted to practice; but he soon 
closed his office to follow another profession more con¬ 
genial to his taste, that of writer. 

The American Review had been started in 1815, and, 
in 1818, he became associate editor of the Review with 
his cousin, E. T. Channing. During-the two years of 
this connection, he wrote five papers, chiefly on literary 
topics. In 1824, he began the publication of The Idle 
Man, a periodical in which he communicated to the 
public his Tales and Essays. But the general tone of 
it was too high to be popular, and its publication was 
relinquished. His first poem, The Dying Raven, was 
published in 1825 in the New York Review, then edited 
by the poet Bryant. 

The work that has given most reputation to Dana, is 
The Buccaneer, which appeared in 1827 with some 
other poems. The Buccaneer is a philosophical tale in 
verse. In it the tragic and remorseful element exerts 
a powerful influence over the imagination, and elevates 
at the same time the aspirations of the human soul. 
The Blackwood Magazine of 1835 pronounced Hie Buc¬ 
caneer the most powerful and original of American 
poetical compositions, and places its author in the same 
class, but in a lower rank, with the authors of Peter 
Bell and the Ancient Mariner. 

In 1839, Dana delivered a course of eight lectures on 
Shakespeare in Boston and New York, and subsequently 
repeated them in other cities of the Union. Intense 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


541 


interest was excited by tliese lectures, in which the ex¬ 
cellences of the great dramatist were delineated with 
more than ordinary skill. The prose writings of Dana 
are in a style, simple, direct, and forcible. 


DAYBRE4 K. 

Now, brighter than the host that all night long, 

In fiery armor, far up in the sky 

Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning’s song, 
Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh, 

Star of the dawning! Cheerful is thine eye, 

And yet in the broad day it must grow dim; 

Thou seem’st to look on me, as asking why 
My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim; 

Thou bid’st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him. 

How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft 
Shot ’thwart the earth! In crown of living fire 
Up comes the day! as if they conscious quaffed 
The sunny flood, hill, forest, city spire, 

Laugh in the wakening light. Go, vain desire! 

The dusky lights are gone; go thou thy way! 

And pining discontent, like them, expire; 

Be called my chamber, Peace, when ends the day; 

And let me with the dawn, like Pilgrim, sing and pray. 


Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803-1882. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson was no less distinguished for 
the rare beauty of his language than the obscurity and 
unsoundness of his thoughts. A native of Boston, the 
son of a Unitarian clergyman, he belonged to an old 
Puritan family. He was educated at Harvard, and in 
1829, appointed minister to a Unitarian church in Bos¬ 
ton. When, three years later, he could no longer hold 
the same belief as his congregation, he had the courage 
of sacrificing his position to his convictions. In 1835, 



542 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


lie settled in Concord, where, with the exception of 
some lecturing tours through England and the United 
States, he spent the remainder of his life. Emerson 
was, on his own admission, a transcendentalist, or ex¬ 
treme idealist, and pantheist. The soul of man, in as 
much as it is freed from personal limitations, he identi¬ 
fied with God, and he assumed that whatever is distin¬ 
guishable from God is unreal, phenomenal. Not being 
able to find universal truth in the shreds of revelation 
offered by Protestantism, he looked for it in nature 
alone; but he failed even to solve the problem of man’s 
origin and destiny. 

The sage of Concord “was not a profound student 
in anything. He had no peculiar gifts as a religious 
thinker or philosopher; neither was he learned in the¬ 
ology or philosophy/’ * Yet he was dogmatic and or¬ 
acular, never stopping to prove a statement or denial; 
indeed he was incapable of any reasoning. Writing to 
Henry Ware, his former colleague in the ministry, he 
said: “ I could not possibly give you one of the argu¬ 
ments on which any doctrine of mine stands; for I do 
not know what arguments mean in reference to any ex¬ 
pression of a thought. I delight in telling what I 
think; but if you ask me how I dare say so, or why it 
is so, I am the most helpless of mortals.” The follow¬ 
ing are the productions of his pen: Essays , Represen¬ 
tative Men , English Traits , Lectures and Addresses , 
Poems. His representative men are Plato, the Philoso¬ 
pher; Swedenborg, the Mystic; Montaigne, the Scep¬ 
tic; Shakespeare, the Poet; Napoleon, the Man of the 
World; and Goethe, the Writer. Despite his had phi¬ 
losophy and want of revealed religion, we discover in his 
verse and prose an exquisite sense of beauty, which ren- 


Rev. I. T. Hecker. 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


543 


ders his works most enticing and most dangerous. His 
style is of a crystal transparency; and if at times his 
meaning is vague as a riddle, the fault must be laid to 
his cloudy ideas, not to obscurity in their expression. 

ENGLISH MANNERS. 

I find the Englishman to be him of all men who stands firm¬ 
est in his shoes. They have in themselves what they value in 
their horses, mettle and bottom. On the day of my arrival at 
Liverpool, a gentleman, in describing to me the Lord Lieuten¬ 
ant of Ireland, happened to say, “ Lord Clarendon has pluck 
like a cock, and will fight till he dies: ” and, what I heard first 
I heard last, and the one thing the Englishman values, is 
pluck. The word is not beautiful, but on the quality they sig¬ 
nify by it the nation is unanimous. The cabmen have it; the 
merchants have it; the bishops have it; the women have it; 
the journals have it; the Times newspaper, they say, is the 
pluckiest thing in England, and Sidney Smith had made it a 
proverb, that little Lord John Russell, the minister, would 
take the command of the Channel fleet to-morrow. 

They require you to dare to be of your own opinion, and 
they hate the practical cowards who cannot in affairs answer 
yes or no. They dare to displease, nay, they will let you break 
all the commandments, if you do it natively, and with spirit. 
You must be somebody; then you may do this or that, as you 
will. . . . The mechanical might and organization require in 
the people constitution and answering spirits; and he who goes 
among them must have some weight of metal. At last, you 
take your hint from the fury of life you find, and say, one 
thing is plain, this is no country for faint-hearted people; don’t 
creep about diffidently; make up your mind; take your own 
course, and you shall find respect and furtherance. . . . 

This vigor appears in the incuriosity, and stony neglect, each 
of every other. Each man walks, eats, drinks, shaves, dresses, 
gesticulates, and, in every manner, acts, and suffers without 
reference to the bystanders, in his own fashion, only careful 
not to interfere with them, or annoy them; not that he is 
trained to neglect the eyes of his neighbors,—he is really occu¬ 
pied with his own affair, and does not think of them. Every 
man in this polished country consults only his convenience, as 


544 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


mucli as a solitary pioneer in Wisconsin. I know not where 
any personal eccentricity is so freely allowed, and no mail 
gives himself any concern with it. An Englishman walks in a 
pouring rain, swinging his closed umbrella like a walking-stick; 
wears a wig, or a shawl, or a saddle, or stands on his head, 
and no remark is made. And as he has been doing this for 
several generations, it is now in the blood. 

In short, every one of these islanders is an island himself, 
safe, tranquil, incommunicable. In a company of strangers, 
you would think him deaf; his eyes never wander from his 
table and newspaper. He is never betrayed into any curiosity 
or unbecoming emotion. They have all been trained in one 
severe school of manners, and never put off the harness. He 
does not give his hand. He does not let you meet his eye. It 
is almost an affront to look a man in the face, without being 
introduced. In mixed or in select companies they do not in¬ 
troduce persons; so that a presentation is a circumstance as 
valid as a contract. Introductions are sacraments. He with¬ 
holds his name. At the hotel, he is hardly willing to whisper 
it to the clerk at the book-office. If he give you his private ad¬ 
dress on a card, it is like an avowal of friendship; and his bear¬ 
ing on being introduced is cold, even though he is seeking your 
acquaintance, and is studying how he shall serve you. 


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882. 

Henry W. Longfellow, the son of Hon. Stephen 
Longfellow, was born in Portland, Maine, in 1807. At 
the age of fourteen, he was entered at Bowdoin College, 
and, along with Hawthorne, was graduated in the fa¬ 
mous class of 1825—the semi-centennial celebration of 
which event he lived to observe and to sing in his 
thoughtful poem Moriiuri Salutamus. After quitting 
college, Longfellow began the study of law in his father’s 
office, in Boston; but, being called to the chair of mod¬ 
ern languages in his Alma Mater, he went abroad in 
1826, in order to qualify himself for the duties of pro¬ 
fessor. In England, France, Spain, Italy, Germany, 
and Holland, he spent three years and a half in the 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


545 


prosecution of his special object. In 1829, lie entered 
on his office at Bowdoin. In 1855, on the retirement 
of George Ticknor from Harvard College, Longfellow 
was elected Professor of Belles-lettres in that institution. 
A second trip to Europe with purposes similar to the 
first, was made. He held his professorship at Harvard 
until 1854, when he resigned in order to devote him¬ 
self exclusively to literature. 

Longfellow is the most remarkable man of letters 
that America has yet produced. An excellent linguist, 
a learned and cultured scholar, a versatile and popular 
poet, he has enriched the language with a profusion of 
poems interspersed with prose works and translations. 
His genius is characterized by breadth, strength, beauty, 
and unerring taste. Perhaps no other poet of this cent¬ 
ury has written so many things which have become 
the companion-pictures of scholars and unlettered peo¬ 
ple alike. We give his writings in the order in which 
they appeared before the public: Coplas de Manrique, 
translated from the Spanish; Outre-Mer, a Pilgrimage 
beyond the Sea, in poetical prose; Hyperion, a Romance; 
Voices of the Night; Ballads and other Poems; Poems on 
Slavery; The Spanish Student , a Play; The Belfry of 
Bruges and other Poems; Evangeline, a Tale of Acadie, 
the brightest gem of the whole casket; Kavanagh, a 
tale ; The Seaside and the Fireside; The Golden Legend; 
The Poets and Poetry of Europe; The Song of Hia¬ 
watha; The Courtship of Miles Standish; Tales of a 
Wayside Inn; New England Tragedies; The Divine 
Tragedy; Translation of Dante’s Divina Commedia; 
Sonnets. 

Longfellow was not only the most popular poet of 
America, but perhaps, in a more marked degree, the 
most popular poet in Great Britain. We may take on 
this subject the following testimony from Cardinal 


546 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Wiseman: “ There is no greater lack in English litera¬ 
ture than that of a poet of the people—of one who shall 
be to the laboring classes of England what Goethe is to 
the peasant of Germany. He was a true philosophei 
who said, c Let me make the songs of a nation, and I 
care not who makes its laws/ There is one writer who 
approaches nearer than any other to this standard; and 
he has already gained such a hold on our hearts, that 
it is almost unnecessary for me to mention his name. 
Our hemisphere cannot claim the honor of having 
brought him forth; but still he belongs to us, for his 
works have become as household words wherever the 
English language is spoken. And whether we are 
charmed by his imagery, or soothed by his melodious 
versification, or elevated by the high moral teachings 
of his pure Muse, or follow with sympathizing hearts 
the wanderings of Evangeline, I am sure that all who 
hear my voice will join with me in the tribute I desire 
to pay to the genius of Longfellow." * 

A PSALM OF LIFE. 

• 

Tell me not in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream! 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real! Life is earnest! 

And the grave is not its goal; 

Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way; 

But to act that each to-morrow 
Finds us farther than to-day. 


* Lecture on the Home Education of the Poor. 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


547 


Art is long, and time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are heating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world’s broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of life, 

Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 

Be a hero in the strife. 

Trust no future, howe’er pleasant! 

Let the dead past bury its dead! 

Act,—act in the living present! 

Heart within, and God o’erliead! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time ;— 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. 

CONCLUSION OF EVANGELINE. 

Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, 

In the heart of the city they lie, unknown and unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and 
forever, 

Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from 
their labors, 

Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed the 
journey! 


548 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the shade of its 
branches 

Dwells another race, with other customs and language. 

Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic 

Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile 

Wandered back to their native land to die in its'bosom. 

In the fisherman’s cot the wheel and the loom are still busy ; 

Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of 
homespun, 

And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline’s story, 

While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring 
ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the 
forest. 


TIIE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 

(From the Tales of a Wayside Inn—the Second Day.) 

11 Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled! ” 
That is what the vision said. 

In his chamber all alono, 

Kneeling on the floor of stone, 

Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 
For his sins of indecision, 

Prayed for greater self-denial 
In temptation and in trial; 

It w T as noonday by the dial, 

And the Monk was all alone. 

Suddenly, as if it lightened, 

An unwonted splendor brightened 
All within him and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 

And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, w r ith light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapped about him, 

Like a garment round him thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain, 

Not in agonies of pahi, 

Not with bleeding hands and feet, 

Did the Monk his Master see ; 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


549 


But as in the village street, 

In the house or harvest-field, 

Halt and lame and blind he healed, 

When he walked in Galilee. 

In an attitude imploring, 

Hands upon his bosom crossed, 
Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 

Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 

Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest, 
Who am I, that from the centre 
Of thy glory thou shouldst enter 
This poor cell, my guest to be ? 

Then amid his exaltation, 

Loud the convent bell appalling, 

From its belfry calling, calling, 

Kang through court and corridor 
With persistent iteration 
He had never heard before. 

It was now the appointed hour, 

When alike in shine or shower, 

Winter’s cold or summer’s heat, 

To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame, 

All the beggars of the street, 

For their daily dole of food 
Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 

And their almoner was he 
Who upon his bended knee, 

Kapt in silent ecstasy 
Of divinest self-surrender, 

Saw the Vision and the Splendor. 

Deep distress and-hesitation 
Mingled with his adoration ; 

Should he go, or should he stay ? 

Should he leave the poor to wait 
Hungry at the convent gate, 

Till the Vision passed away ? 

Should he slight his radiant guest, 

Slight his visitant celestial, 

For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
Beggars at the convent gate ? 




550 


AMERICAN LITERATURE, 


Should the Vision there remain ? 
Would the Vision come again ? 

Then a voice within liis breast 
Whispered, audible and clear, 

As if to the outward ear: 

“ Do thy duty ; that is best; 

Leave unto thy Lord the rest !” 

Straightway to his feet he started, 
And with longing look intent 
On the Blessed Vision bent, 

Slowly from his cell departed, 

Slowly on his errand went. 

At the gate the poor were waiting, 
Looking through the iron grating, 
With that terror in the eye 
That is only seen in those 
Who amid their wants and woes 
Hear the sound of doors that close, 
And of feet that pass them by ; 

Grown familiar with disfavor, 

Grown familiar with the savor 
Of the bread by which men die! 

But to-day, they know not why, 

Like the gate of Paradise 
Seemed the convent gate to rise, 

Like a sacrament divine 
Seemed to them the bread and wine. 
In his heart the Monk was praying, 
Thinking of the homeless poor, 

What they suffer and endure ; 

What we see not, what we see ; 

And the inward voice was saying : 

“ Whatsoever thing thou doest 
To the least of mine and lowest, 

That thou doest unto me.” 

Unto me! but had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar’s clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring, 

Would he then have knelt adoring, 

Or have listened with derision, 

And have turned away with loathing ? 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


551 


Tims his conscience put the question. 
Full of troublesome suggestion, 

As at leugth, with hurried, pace, 
Towards his cell he turned his face, 
And beheld the convent bright 
With a supernatural light, 

Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over door and wall and ceiling. 

But he paused with awe-struck feeling 
At the threshold of his door. 

For the Vision still was standing 
As he left it there before. 

When the convent bell appalling. 

From its belfry calling, calling, 
Summoned him to feed the poor. 
Through the long hour intervening 
It had waited his return, 

And he felt his bosom burn, 
Comprehending all the meaning, 

When the Blessed Vision said, 

“ Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled.” 


Isaac Thomas Hecker, 1819-1888. 

The Ycrj^ Rev. Isaac Thomas Hecker had, for many 
years, the utmost share in directing Catholic opinion 
and promoting literary interests among the Catholics 
of the States. He was born in New York of German 
parents, and educated in the same city. For many 
year$, lie- vainly sought" an answer to the anxious as¬ 
pirations of his soul; to no purpose, he became a mem¬ 
ber of Brook Farm Association, and joined the Conso- 
ciate Family, at Fruitlands, Mass.: in the Catholic 
Church alone did he find, in 1845, the haven of his de¬ 
sires. Admitted soon after into the Congregation of 
the most Holy Redeemer, he went abroad to make his 
novitiate, and was ordained in London by Cardinal 



552 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Wiseman. Returning to America in 1851, be was em¬ 
ployed for the next seven years in giving missions 
throughout the States. In 1858, with the assent of 
the Popo, he left the Redemptorists to found the Con¬ 
gregation of St. Paul, over which he continued to pre¬ 
side till his death. The first work published by Father 
Hecker, was his Questions of the Soul, which appeared 
in 1855. It is addressed to non-Catholics, to whom he 
shows plainly, forcibly, but without a shadow of ill- 
temper, that only the Catholic Church adequately an¬ 
swers the paramount questions raised in the soul about 
man’s destiny and the means to attain it. This book 
is admirably adapted to the American mind, and espe¬ 
cially meets the wants of New England transcendental- 
ists, whom the author knew so well. The Aspirations 
of the Soul , written two years after, may be considered 
as a sequel to the Questions , and equally bears the 
stamp of earnestness, originality, and zeal for the en¬ 
lightenment of deluded souls. 

Dr. Brownson having, at the end of 1864, inter¬ 
rupted his Review, Father Hecker supplied its place 
by that well-known magazine. The Catholic World , and 
founded at the same time the Catholic Publication So¬ 
ciety. It is not easy to overrate the influence exerted 
by these two institutions, in spreading sound litera¬ 
ture, in educating the Catholic taste, in commanding 
general attention and regard for Catholics. Father 
Hecker was indefatigable in his efforts to- raise the 
Catholic World to the first rank of magazines, and 
fairly succeeded. His own numerous contributions to 
that periodical did much to bring about that result; 
one of the most remarkable is The Catholic Church in 
the United States, which appeared in 1879. 

We have seldom seen a finer delineation of a good 
and gifted man, than that of Father Hecker drawn by 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


553 


liis intimate friend. Dr. Brownson, in his Review for 
April, 1855. 


George Bancroft. 1800-1891. 

George Bancroft, our national historian, was born at 
Worcester, Massachusetts, in 1800. Ilis father, a Con- 
gregationalist minister, spared nothing to give him a 
thorough education. In 1817, before he had completed 
his seventeenth year, young Bancroft received his 
degree of Bachelor of Arts at Harvard. The next year, 
having gone to Europe, he prosecuted his studies under 
eminent scholars at Gottingen and Berlin, and took 
the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in 1820. After his 
return to America, he published in the North American 
Review some translations in verse of Schiller, Goethe, 
and other German authors. He also translated and 
edited several of Ileeren's historical works. But Mr. 
Bancrofts fame as a writer rests upon his History of 
the United States. It comprises ten volumes, three of 
which are occupied with the history of the Colonies, 
three with the disputes between the Colonies and 
the Mother Country, and four with the War for In¬ 
dependence. The tenth volume, published in 1874, 
concludes with the signing of the treaty of peace, No¬ 
vember 30, 1782.* Mr. Bancroft's History is, clearly, 
the most remarkable account of American affairs that 
has been yet written, and, considered as a whole, is cer¬ 
tainly a great work. It is open, however, to very seri¬ 
ous charges. It seems to be written, not simply for 
the sake of history, but with a view to set forth and 


* The author's last revision gives us the History in six volumes, without the 
references to authorities which are found in the first edition. The changes, 
omissions, and alterations, made in the last revision, are, in many respects, 
offensive and unjust to Catholics. See three articles on this subject in the 
Cath. World for Sept., Oct., and Nov., 18S8. 




554 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


confirm by history the author’s theories on God, man, 
and society,—theories, moreover, that are unsound and 
in the last degree dangerous. “Mr. Bancroft’s style,” 
says Griswold, “is elaborate, scholarly, and forcible, 
though sometimes not without a visible effort at elo¬ 
quence; and there is occasionally a dignity of phrase that 
is not in keeping with the subject-matter. It lacks the 
delightful ease and uniform proportion which mark the 
diction of Prescott.” At the age of eighty-two, tho 
venerable historian published a new work in two vol¬ 
umes, the History of the Formation of the Constitution 
of the United States of A merica. This is, in many re¬ 
spects, a valuable contribution to American history; 
but it gives an imperfect and sometimes erroneous view 
of the subject which it purports to treat. 

As a politician and diplomatist, Mr. Bancroft acted 
a considerable part in the affairs of his country. He 
was Collector of the Port of Boston in 1835, Secre¬ 
tary of the Navy in 1845, Minister Plenipotentiary to 
Great Britain in 1846, and for many years American 
Ambassador at the court of Berlin. The great accom¬ 
plishments of Mr. Bancroft render only keener the re¬ 
gret that his great work—his history—should have 
failed to be a monument every way worthy of the na¬ 
tional grandeur to which it was raised. 

PEACE BETWEEN TIIE UNITED STATES AND GREAT BRITAIN, 

1782. 

(From Conclusion to the tenth volume of the History of the United States.) 

The articles of peace, though entitled provisional, were made 
definitive by a declaration in the preamble. Friends of Frank¬ 
lin gathered around him, and as the Duke of Rochefoucauld 
kissed him for joy, “ My friend,” said Franklin, “ could I have 
hoped at such an age to have enjoyed so great happiness ? ” 
The treaty was not a compromise, nor a compact imposed by 
force, but a free and perfect solution, and perpetual settlement 
of all that had been called in question. By doing an act of 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


555 


justice to lier former colonies, England rescued her own liber¬ 
ties at home from imminent danger, and opened the way for 
their slow but certain development. The narrowly selfish colo¬ 
nial policy which had led to the cruel and unnatural war was 
cast aside and forever by Great Britain, which was hencefor¬ 
ward as the great colonizing power to sow all the oceans with 
the seed of republics. For the United States, the war, which 
began by an encounter with a few husbandmen embattled on 
Lexington Green, ended with their independence, and posses¬ 
sion of all the country from the St. Croix to the Southwestern 
Mississippi, from the Lake of the Woods to the St. Mary. In 
time past, republics had been confined to cities and their de¬ 
pendencies, or to small cantons, and the United States avowed 
themselves able to fill a continental territory with common 
wealths. They possessed beyond any other portion of the 
world the great ideas of their age, and enjoyed the practice of 
tfiem by individual man in uncontrolled faith and industry, 
thought and action. For other communities, institutions had 
been built up by capitulations and acts of authoritative power; 
the United States of America could shape their coming rela¬ 
tions wisely only through the widest and most energetic exer¬ 
cise of the right inherent in humanity to deliberation, choice, 
and assent. While the constitutions of their separate members, 
resting on the principle of self-direction, were, in most respects, 
the best in the world, they had no general government; and as 
they went forth upon untried paths, kings expected to see the 
confederacy fly into fragments, or lapse into helpless anarchy. 
But, for all the want of a government, their solemn pledge to 
one another of mutual citizenship and perpetual union made 
them one people; and that people was superior to its institu¬ 
tions, possessing the vital force which goes before organization, 
and gives to it strength and form. Yet, for success, the lib¬ 
erty of the individual must know how to set to itself bounds; 
and the states, displaying the highest quality of greatness, 
must learn to temper their rule of themselves by their own 
moderation. 


556 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Francis Parkman,* 1823-1893. 

Francis Parkman will rank among the first of the his¬ 
torians of America. Like Bancroft, he confined himself 
to an American subject; but, unlike Bancroft, he did not 
make facts subserve his own theories. Parkman was born 
in Boston, his father being a leading Unitarian minister. 
From his boyhood, when a mere student at Harvard, he 
conceived the idea of writing the history of the rise and 
fall of French power in North America. This idea gave 
unity to his life and shaped the course of his occupations 
and studies. Before he left college he had made himself 
master of the French language, and had spent one year fin 
Europe enlarging his knowledge of French institutions. 
Graduated in 1844, his matriculation as a law-student 
in no way prevented his favorite studies. In 1846, in 
company with a friend, he spent the w T hole summer with 
the Dakotahs, the better to understand the character and 
habits of the North American Indian. The hardships and 
privations which attended this experiment impaired his 
health for life and left him partly blind. He now began 
the writing of his various monographs, which, by them¬ 
selves independent, together form one complete history. 
They were published under the following titles and dates: 
The California and Oregon Trail (1849); The Conspiracy 
of Pontiac (1851); The Pioneers of France in the New 
World (1865) ; The Jesuits in North America (1867) ; La 
Salle and the Discovery of the Great West (1869) ; The Old 
Regime in Canada (1874); Frontenac and New France 
under Louis XIV. (1877); Montcalm and Wolf (1884); 
The Oregon Trail (1890) ; and, finally (1892), his last work, 
in two volumes, A Half-Century of Conflict, completing the 
series, which, in the correct phrase of the historian him- 


* In this sketch we have availed ourselves extensively of an article in 
The Forum, Dec., 1893, written by Julius H. Ward. A very favorable appre¬ 
ciation of Parkman may be seen also in The Athenaeum, Nov. 18,1893. 



THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


557 


self, “ dow forms a continuous history of the efforts of 
France to occupy and control the North American Con¬ 
tinent.” Thus, in spite of his chronic ill-health, did he 
carry out the earliest dream of his youth. As to the 
writer’s style, “ it is picturesque, full of graphic descrip¬ 
tions of nature, giving exact pictures of the forests, the 
localities, the battle-fields, the persons, and the thrilling 
moments of the narrative.” It is, however, the serious 
fault of this writer that, even when he glorifies her heroes 
and missionaries, he misrepresents the Church. 

FORT DUQUESNE. 

(From Montcalm and Wolf.) 

Fort Duquesne stood on tlie point of land where the Alleghany 
and Monongahela join to form the Ohio, and where now stands 
Pittsburg, with its swarming population, its restless industries, the 
clang of its forges, and its chimneys vomiting foul smoke into the 
face of heaven. At that early day (1755) a white flag fluttering 
over a cluster of palisades and embankments betokened the first 
intrusion of civilized men upon a scene which, a few months before, 
breathed the repose of a virgin wilderness, voiceless but for the lap¬ 
ping of waves upon the pebbles or the note of some lonely bird. 
But now the sleep of ages was broken, and bugle and drum told the 
astonished forest that its doom was pronounced and its days num¬ 
bered. The fort was a compact little work, solidly built and strong, 
compared with others , on the continent. It was a square of four 
bastions, with the water close on two sides, and the other two pro¬ 
tected by ravelins, ditch, glacis, and covered way. The ramparts on 
these sides were of square logs filled in with earth, and ten feet or 
more thick. The two water sides were enclosed by a massive stockade 
of upright logs, twelve feet high, mortised together and loopholed. 
The armament consisted of a number of small cannon mounted on 
the bastions. A gate and drawbridge on the east side gave access to 
the area within, which was surrounded by barracks for the soldiers, 
officers’ quarters, the lodgings of the commandant, a guard-house, 
and a store-house, all built partly of logs and partly of boards. 
There were no casemates, and the place was commanded by a high 
woody hill beyond the Monongahela. The forest had been cleared 
away to the distance of more than a musket-shot from the ramparts, 
and the stumps were hacked level with the ground. Here, just out- 


558 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


side the ditch, bark cabins had been built for such of the troops and 
Canadians as could not find room within; and the rest of the open 
space was covered with Indian corn and other crops. The garrison 
consisted of a few companies of the regular troops stationed per¬ 
manently in the colony, and to these were added a considerable 
number of Canadians. . . . Besides the troops and Canadians, eight 
hundred warriors, mustered from far and near, had built their wig¬ 
wams and camp-sheds on the open ground or under the edge of the 
neighboring woods—very little to the advantage of the young corn. 
. . . The law of the survival of the fittest had wrought on this het¬ 
erogeneous crew through generations ; and with the primitive Indian 
the fittest was the hardiest, fiercest, most adroit, and most wily. 

OTHER WRITERS. 

Mathew Carey (1760-1839), a native of Dublin, who immigrated to Pennsyl¬ 
vania in 1784, in order to escape the persecutions of the English Government, 
has obtained some celebrity by his political writings. He edited several pe¬ 
riodicals, and published many valuable papers on political economy. His 
largest and ablest work is Vindicice Hibernicoe, a defence of Ireland from 
some misstatements of English historians. It shows abundant research, but 
too much hastiness of composition. It was under the direction of Mathew 
Carey that the first Catholic Bible printed in the United States, was issued, in 
1790. 

Joseph Hopkinson (1770-1842) deserves an honorable mention as the author 
of the national song, Hail Columbia. It was composed in 1798, when party 
spirit ran high on the side of France or England, then engaged in war. The 
note of the new song being for neither, but for America alone, found an 
echo in every patriotic heart. 

Joseph Hopkinson, the son of Francis Hopkinson, was a native of Phila¬ 
delphia. He distinguished himself at the bar, and was appointed to the 
office of Judge of the United States District Court, which he held till his 
death. 

Francis Scott Key (1779-1843) will ever be remembered for that patriotic 
and stirring song, The Star-Spangled Banner , which in rhythm and lan¬ 
guage so well reflects the thrilling circumstances which gave it birth. Key 
was born in Frederick County, Md., practised law, and became District 
Attorney of Washington City, where he spent most of his life and died. 

Hugh Swinton Legar£ (1797-1843), an eminent jurist and scholar, was a na¬ 
tive of Charleston, South Carolina. His works, collected in two large octa¬ 
vos, comprise extracts from his Private and Diplomatic Correspondence , 
Orations, and Essays contributed to the New York and Southern Quarterly 
Review. The most interesting of the Essays are those on Classical Learn¬ 
ing, Roman Literature. Cicero de Republica, and Demosthenes. A man of 
rare attainments and excellent culture, he possessed a style rich, beautiful, 
and chaste. 

Henry Clay (1777-1852) is well known as an orator and statesman. In the 
triumvirate of eloquence which he shared with Webster and Calhoun, his 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


559 


peculiar power consisted in his appeals to the heart, and on this account he 
was more popular than either of his two great rivals. 

Clay was born in Virginia, but removed to Kentucky after his admission 
to the bar, in 1797. He was engaged in politics during the greater part of his 
life, and filled eminent positions, as Speaker of Congress, Secretary of State, 
and Senator. His speeches have not the depth of Calhoun’s, nor the breadth 
of Webster’s, but they gained advantage from the magnetism of his person, 
the modulations of his full and musical voice, and the warmth of his well- 
known sympathies. 

John Howard Payne (1792-1853) is remembered as the author of a lyric, 
which contains twelve lines only, but is as widely spread as the English- 
speaking world—the song Home, Sweet Home. 

Payne was born in New York, and in early life was an actor. He com¬ 
posed several plays, the principal of which are Brutus, Virginius and Charles 
II. He was consul at Tunis when he died, and there his remains rested for 
over thirty years, till by the munificence of Hon. W. W. Corcoran, they 
were conveyed to Washington, and entombed with honor. 

Jedediah Vincent Huntington (1815-1862) was a distinguished novelist. A 
native of New York, graduate of Yale, and an Episcopalian minister, he 
made his submission to the Catholic Church in 1849. His first novels— Lady 
Alice , Alban , and The Forest— though written after his conversion, gave of¬ 
fence for their want of chasteness; but Rosemary, the masterpiece of the 
author, is the delight of its readers. He wrote also a volume of poems, which 
have been characterized as ‘ classical and Wordsworthian.’ 

John Hughes (1797-1861), Archbishop of New York, is one of the most con¬ 
spicuous figures that have graced the annals of the Catholic Church in 
America. Born in Ireland, he came to the United States when he was 
twenty years of age. Here, his industry supplied him the means necessary 
for his classical and clerical education, which he received at Emmitsburg. 
After exercising his ministry with great success in the diocese of Philadel¬ 
phia, he was called, in 1837, to a higher sphere of action as coadjutor Bishop 
of New York. We have not here to tell his zeal, his activity, the exhaustless 
resources of his genius; or, how he caused Catholic opinion to be heard in 
the councils of his State, developed a hundredfold the means of education 
among the various classes of his flock, and, in a manner, exerted an influence 
over the whole country. His eloquence was impetuous, and nigh irresistible. 
His writings were not polished with the fastidious taste of a critic, but has¬ 
tily thrown out to meet the exigencies of the hour; and yet they bear the 
impress of a great mind. They consist of Sermons , Letters, Lectures , 
Speeches , most of them of a controversial kind. 

Rev. John Boyce (1810-1864). a native of Ireland, who for many years 
exercised the holy ministry in the diocese of Boston, published, under the 
pseudonym of Paul Peppergrass, Esq., three remarkable novels— Shandy 
McGuire , or, Tricks upon Travellers, The Spaewife, or, the Queen's Secret, 
and Mary Lee, or, the Yankee in Ireland. The first, which has enjoyed the 
greatest popularity on both sides of the Atlantic, is a picture of the relations 
then existing in the North of Ireland between Catholics and Protestants, the 
landlords and their tenants. It sets before our eyes the cruel vexations 
practised by one party, and the deep antipathy rancoring in the hearts of 
the other, with a rare display of Celtic wit, humor, and pathos. The Spae¬ 
ivife is a graphic story of the reign of Elizabeth. Mary Lee is a picturesque 


560 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


and humorous delineation of the enterprising Yankee. Besides these novels 
Father Boyce composed and delivered Lectures which, at the time, attracted 
much attention, such as Mary , Queen of Scots, Queen Elizabeth, Sir Thomas 
More, Henry Grattan, and The Irish Exile. He combined vast powers of 
mind with an inexhaustive fund of original wit and humor. 

Rev. Xavier Donald McLeod (1821-1865), a native of New York, was exer¬ 
cising the ministry of the Episcopal Church under Bishop Ives, when his 
eyes opened to the truth of the Catholic faith. He became a Catholic and a 
priest. He was accidentally killed by a railroad train, while going to a sick 
call. His chief publications are: Pynnshurst, The Bloodstone, Lescure, Life 
of Sir Walter Scott, Life of Mary, Queen of Scots, Biography of Fernando 
Wood, and Devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary in North America. This 
last is the only work that he wrote after his conversion. His style is brill¬ 
iant, imaginative, bordering on bombast. 

Charles Constantine Pise, D.D. (1802-1866), held a distinguished rank 
among the Catholic writers of his day. A native of Annapolis. Maryland, he 
exercised the holy ministry in the dioceses of Baltimore, New York, and 
Brooklyn, and, for a time, held the office of chaplain to the United States Sen¬ 
ate. Dr. Pise was a liighly-cultured gentleman, and versatile writer. Be¬ 
sides a certain number of poems, some of which have the true lyrical spirit, 
he published Father Rowland, a religious tale of great interest; two other 
works of fiction, The Indian Cottage and Zenobius ; a large History of the 
Church from its Establishment to the Reformation, which responded to the needs 
of the times, but has since been superseded; Aletheia, a volume of contro¬ 
versial essays; lastly, St. Ignatius and his First Companions. 

Levi Silliman Ives (1797-1867/, Protestant Bishop of North Carolina from 
1831 till 1852, became a Catholic after a long struggle, which he has graphic¬ 
ally described in his Trials of a Mind in its Progress to Catholicism. It is 
not true that “ he afterwards went back to the Episcopal Church. ” on the 
contrary, he cherished to the last with incredible love the Church for which 
he had sacrificed all earthly interests. 

Hon. Thomas d’Arcy McGee (1825-1868) was a gifted son of prolific Ireland. 
Having emigrated to America, he became, at nineteen, the editor of The Bos¬ 
ton Pilot. In 1845, he went back to Ireland, where, for three years, he con¬ 
tributed the powers of his pen and speech to the revolutionary party which 
opposed O’Connell’s policy. After his return to the United States, and, later 
on, in Canada, he endeavored by his writings to promote the best interests 
of the American Celt. On his removal to Canada, in 1857, he exerted a mighty 
influence in behalf of the conservative party. Whilst in the exercise of pub¬ 
lic duties and the enjoyment of political honors, he was basely assassinated 
by an emissary of secret societies. D’Arcy McGee was an excellent orator 
and a careful writer, who employed the spare moments of his agitated life 
in composing the following works: Five lectures on the Catholic Histomy of 
North America; O' Connell and His Friends; The Irish Writers of the Seventeenth 
Century; The Life of Bishop Mag inn ; Attempts to Establish the Protestant Refor¬ 
mation in Ireland; A History of Ireland; and Poems, edited after his death by 
the distinguished Mrs. Sadlier. His poetry, which is an expression of his 
feelings for the country of his birth, is unequal in its literary merits. Iona 
to Erin, first published in the Catholic World, is a specimen of his best efforts. 
His History of Ireland does not exhibit the word-painting of a Macaulay or 
the smooth elegance of a Prescott; but it is a faithful, impartial, accurate 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


561 


record in a clear, concise, and pure style, the most lasting monument to the 
memory of its author. 

James McSherry (1819-1809), a Catholic lawyer of Frederick City, Mary¬ 
land, wrote the first extensive History of his own State, from the early settle¬ 
ments down to the year 1848. It shows ability and industry; but does 
scanty justice to the Catholic Church, and ignores entirely the Catholic Col¬ 
leges then flourishing in the State, even his own Alma Mater at Emmitsburg. 
It has since been superseded by Scharf's more comprehensive History 
of Maryland. McSherry is also the author of Father Laval , or, the Jes¬ 
uit Missionary; and, for many years he was a regular contributor to the 
United States Catholic Magazine. 

John Pendleton Kennedy (1795-1870) holds a high rank among American 
novelists. Born in Baltimore, he completed nis studies in the same city, was 
admitted to the bar, and took a prominent part in politics. His first novel, 
Swallow Barn, describes Virginia life and manners; Horseshoe Robinson is 
a tale of the Revolution; Rob of the Bowl relates to the troubles that existed 
between Catholics and Protestants during the Colonial times. Mr. Kennedy 
published also a valuable Life of William Wirt , and contributed a large 
number of essays to Southern magazines. 

William Gilmore Simms (1806-1870), a native of Charleston, South Carolina, 
is one of the most voluminous and popular of our American writers. With¬ 
out a collegiate education, his private studies opened for him the door of 
the legal profession, but he preferred the career of author to the practice of 
the law. His works consist of poetry, dramas, romances, history, biogra¬ 
phy, critical and miscellaneous essays. His most meritorious poems are ; 
Atlantis, a Drama of the Sea, Lays of the Palmetto, and The City of the 
Silent. His dramas, Norman Maurice and Michael Bonham, have obtained 
little success. The field in which Simms has won his best laurels is that of 
fiction, and American history the ground of nearly all his romances. In The 
Yemassee and The Cacique of Kiawah, he describes Colonial times; in The 
Partisan , Mellichampe, The Scout, The Foragers, Eutaw, and Woodcraft, 
he deals with incidents of the Revolution; ^in Guy Risers, Border Beagles, 
Richard Hurd is, and Beauchampe, he delineates border scenes, whilst 
Count Julian, The Huguenots, and a few others are of foreign origin. In 
another department, he wrote a History of South Carolina, coming down 
to 1840; and the Lives of Francis Marion, Captain John Smith, the founder 
of Virginia, Chevalier Bayard, Nathaniel Greene. In the midst of these 
literary occupations, the indefatigable writer contributed many critical or 
miscellaneous papers to almost every magazine of the country, and yet 
found time to be an active politician and a successful planter. 

Henry Theodore Tuckerman (1813-1871) comes, as a critic and essayist, 
next to Lowell and Whipple. He was born in Boston, but spent eleven years 
in the South of Europe. The best known of his works are Thoughts on the 
Poets ; Characteristics of Literature ; The Optimist; Essays, Biographical 
and Critical / and Life of John Pendleton Kennedy. 

George Henry Miles (1834-1871), a native of Baltimore, and for many 
years professor in Mount St. Mary’s College, Emmitsburg, is, in our opinion, 
the loftiest and best of our American Catholic poets. His great success was 
the tragedy of Mohammed, the Arabian Prophet, which obtained a prize of 
one thousand dollars against a hundred competitors. I)r. Brownson, in 1850, 
did not hesitate to say that it was “the best poem of the kind ever written 

36 


562 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


and published in this country, a work of rare beauty and great power, of 
deep feeling and deep truth.” The lesson conveyed by the drama is, in the 
words of its author, ‘the inability of the greatest man, starting with the 
purest motives, to counterfeit a mission from God, without becoming the 
slave of hell.’ He wrote also Cromwell , a tragedy; Be Solo, a drama; Mary’s 
Birthday and Senor Valente, two comedies; Inkerman, a war-lyric; Said the 
Rose and The Bird’s Song, two charming songs; other lyrics, like Aladdin’s 
Palace and San Sisto. Christine, a troubadour story in verse, Loretto, or The 
Choice, and The Truce of God are three charming tales. His Reriew of Hamlet 
is an exquisite criticism of Hamlet’s character. Miles was an assiduous 
contributor to reviews and magazines. Everywhere he is remarkable for 
his Catholic spirit and the classical beauty of his language. 

Col. James F. Meline (1811-1873) acquired great reputation for skill, 
research, and brilliancy in his historical disquisition on Mary Queen of 
Scots, and her Latest English Historian. He so ably vindicated the martyr- 
queen that he forced the conclusion on English judges that Mr. Froude 
“ did not seem to know the value of quotation-marks in other words, that 
he falsified history. Meline was also the author of Two Thousand Miles on 
Horseback, and many brilliant articles in The Catholic World. 

John Lothrop Motley (1814-1877), a native of Massachusetts, has acquired 
a certain celebrity by his two great historical works, The Rise of the Dutch 
Republic and the History of the United Netherlands from 1584 to 1G19. 
They give evidence of the author’s long and careful research, but are faulty 
in style and spirit. He neither weighs the meaning of his words, nor com 
bines them skilfully. His misrepresentations of Catholics are so obvious 
that Protestant critics themselves have condemned his ‘ over-zealous parti 
sanship.’ 

Edmund Bailey O'Cali aghan, LL.D. (1804-1880), a native of Ireland, after 
receiving a liberal and medical education in his own country and in Paris, 
came to America in 1823. For fifteen years he resided in Canada, and, for 
the remainder of his life, in Albany and New York. He was a distinguished 
member of the medical body, but acquired a still wider reputation by his 
knowledge of American history. He published many valuable works, the 
principal of which are the following: History of the New Netherlands, 
Jesuit Relations of Discoveries , Documentary History of New York , Docu¬ 
ments Relating to the Colonial History of the State o) New York , Historical 
Manuscripts Relatiny to the War of the Revolution. He died with all the 
consolations of the Catholic religion, of which he was a member from liis 
birth. 

Sidney Lanier (1842-1881). No poet of the South, since Edgar Poe, has 
attracted more attention than Sidney Lanier. He was born in Macon, Ga., 
and studied at Oglethorpe College. At the beginning of the Civil War he 
entered the Confederate service, was captured, and contracted at Point 
Lookout that pulmonary affection which made him a confirmed invalid, 
and brought on his untimely death. From 1873 he lived in Baltimore, de¬ 
voting his time to literature and music. During his last two years he was 
lecturer on English literature at the Johns Hopkins University. 

Lanier was born a poet and musician, and, in his brief day, accomplished 
work that ‘will be,’ says a critic, ‘in the highest rank in the poetry of the 
century.’ The most noted of his poems are Corn, Symphony, and The Marshes 
of Glynn. The Boy’s King Arthur, The Boy’s Mabinogion, and The Boy’s Percy 


TIIE PRESENT CENTURY. 


563 


are charming prose works, through which Lanier wished to stimulate noble 
thoughts and chivalrous sentiments in our young men. His Science of Eng¬ 
lish Verse, in the eyes of the few who can penetrate its depths, is the only 
treatise in English worthy of the title. The other works of Lanier are Tiger 
Lilies, a novel; Florida, its Sceneries, Climate, and History; The English Novel 
and the Principles of its Development. 

The life of Sidney Lanier, says one, is his noblest poem—a psalm against 
his grim foes, want and disease, full of subtle harmonies, moral and intellect¬ 
ual, impossible to be expressed in any words save his own. Of death, as of 
all other troubles, he said: 

“ Death lieth still in the way of life, 

Like as a stone in the way of a brook. 

I will sing against thee, Death, as the brook does, 

I will make thee into music which does not die.” 

We cannot resist the temptation to insert an exquisite selection from his 
volume of Poems: 


BALLAD OF TREES AND THE MASTER. 

“ Into the woods my Master went, 

Clean forspent, forspent. 

Into the woods my Master came, 

Forspent with love and shame. 

But the olives they were not blind to Him, 

The little gray leaves were kind to Him; 

The thorn-tree had a mind to Him 
When into the woods He came. 

“ Out of the woods my Master went, 

And he was well content. 

Out of the woods my Master came, 

Content with Death and Shame. 

When Death and Shame would woo Him last, 

From under the trees they drew Him last; 

’Twas on a tree they slew Him—last 
When out of the woods He came. 

Edwin Perry Whipple (1819-1886), a native of Gloucester, Mass., and a res¬ 
ident of Boston, was one of our most distinguished critics and essayists. His 
productions, which originally appeared as lectures, or, contributions to va¬ 
rious periodicals, have been collected under the title of Character and Char¬ 
acteristic Men and The Literature of the Age of Elizabeth. Judicious, sug¬ 
gestive, and interesting, his appreciations are conveyed in a clear, precise, 
and vivid style. Pie has not. however, purged himself entirely from the old 
leaven of prejudice, which at times breaks out in petty sneers at the Catho¬ 
lic Church. 

Abram J. Ryan (1840-1886), the ‘ Poet-Priest of the South,’ was a son of the 
Old Dominion. His Poems, written ‘off and on, always in a hurry,’ are, in 
fact, of unequal merit. The author gave a fair estimate of them when he 
said in his Preface that ‘ they are incomplete in finish,’but, as he thinks. 
‘ true in tone.’ Patriotic or religious, they actually mirror the fervid feelings 


564 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


of the Southerner and the pious aspirations of the priest. They cannot but 
exert a happy influence on the reader. The most popular are The Conquered 
Banner, Brin’s Blag, and The Sword of Robert Lee, but the Rhyme and The Song 
of the Mystic seem to be the most polished and best-sustained of the collected 
poems. 

John Boyle O’Reilly (1844-1S90) was a distinguished poet and journalist, 
and a general favorite with the public for his genial qualities of mind and 
heart. He was born in Ireland, took part in the revolutionary movement 
of 1803, was tried for treason in 1866, and sentenced to transportation for 
twenty years ; but, escaping from the penal colony of West Australia, he 
came to America, and took up his residence in Boston. Soon after he was 
appointed editor of The Pilot, and retained this position till his death. His 
principal publications are the following: Songs of the Southern Seas (1872); 
Songs, Legends, and Ballads (1878); Moondyne, a Stori/ from the Under-World 
(1879;; Statues in the Block (1881); and The Ethics of Boxing (1888). 

John Gheenleaf Whittier (1807-1892), the Quaker poet of New Eng¬ 
land, obtained considerable fame, owing, in some measure, to the political 
bias of his verse. It is not, however, so much the love of the colored race as 
fierce hatred of the haughty Southerner, that inspires his passionate rhymes. 
The Voices of Freedom , a collection of his anti-slavery poems, have too often 
a commonplace and vulgar tone. His anti-Catiiolie feelings are no less det¬ 
rimental to his poetry than his abolitionist partisanship. In Mogg Meggone, 
he horribly disfigures one of the purest characters or Colonial history, the 
saintly Father Rasle, Jesuit and martyr. His ode To Pius IX. and The 
Dream of Pio Nono are so slanderous and coarse, that any sober-minded 
Protestant must turn from them in disgust. Among the numerous produc¬ 
tions of Whittier, some are more worthy of interest, as his Songs of Labor , 
Snow Bound , and parts of the Miscellaneous. The popular ballad of Bar¬ 
bara Frietchie owes its interest and popularity rather to the dramatic inci¬ 
dents of the fiction, than to the beauty of its verse. The proem to the 
Centennial edition of his poetical works gives a modest, yet pretty true esti¬ 
mate of their worth. They are not marked by any of the higher qualities of 
poetry—lofty flights of imagination, elevation of sentiment, classical finish 
of style, but many of those pieces are a. truthful expression of physical 
American life, and hence the real merit of the poet. 

James Russell Lowell (1812-1882) occupies a high rank among the poets, 
satirists, and critics of America. Born at Cambridge, Mass., and a graduate 
of Harvard, he succeeded Longfellow as professor of belles-lettres at his 
Alma Mater. He had already published many poems, of which his Fable 
for Critics is the most interesting. This is a satire on the principal Ameri¬ 
can writers of the day, a distant echo of Byron's English Bards and Scotch 
Reviewers. The author is witty, ingenious, frequently hits the mark, as 
when he directly tells those leaders of American thought, 

“ You steal Englishmen’s books and think Englishmen’s thoughts.” 

But he is also wordy, weak, and unpolished. What he calls his Fable con¬ 
tains only desultory remarks, not the shadow of a plot. The Bigelow Papers 
are two series of satirical and humorous letters, written in Yankee dialect 
(if we may use the euphemism), concerning the Mexican and Civil Wars 
These Papers arc curious, pungent, and entertaining. Amonghis most finished 


THE PRESENT CENTURY. 


565 


poems we would mention The Legend of Brittany, The Vision of Sir Launfal, The 
Cathedral, and Under the Willows. In our opinion, the most deserving produc¬ 
tions of Lowell are his prose criticisms, under the title of Among My Books 
and My Study Windows. The best of these essays is that on Dante: to Pope 
and Dryden he does scanty justice; but we would find fault with the style 
rather than with the substance. The sentences have not that simplicity 
and clearness of diction which always distinguishes the great masters. 
The Old English Dramatists is the collection of six Lectures delivered in 1887, 
but published in book form after the author’s death. His Letters, published 
by Professor C. E. Norton, show Lowell at his best, his wit and humor, his 
humanity and patriotism, being untrammelled by the rules of more formal 
compositions. 

John Gilmary Shea, LL. D.' (1824-1892), was and is the best authority on 
the history of the Catholic Church in the United States. Born in New York, 
and educated at the Grammar School of Columbia College, he was admitted 
to the bar, but devoted himself to literature. His chief productions are: The 
Discovery and Exploration of the Mississippi Valley; History of the Catholic Mis¬ 
sions among the Indian Tribes of the United States; The Fallen Brave, a series of 
Biographies; Early Voyages up and down the .Mississippi; Life of St. Angela of 
Merici; Legendary History of Ireland He made a most valuable contribution 
to our literature by his Translation of Charlevoix's New France, accom¬ 
panied with copious and learned notes. He collected and edited in twenty 
volumes a series of manuscripts on the French Colonies in North America, 
and edited for eight years the Historical Magazine. But the crowning work 
of John Gilmary Shea, to the completion of which he consecrated the last 
days of his laborious life, is the History of the Catholic Church in the United 
States. Its four octavo volumes comprise The Colonial Times, The Life and 
Times of Archbishop Carroll, the events from 1815 to 1843, and from 1843 to 
1S66. It was not love of gain nor of fame that stimulated the energies of 
that excellent man, but the desire of promoting truth and the welfare of 
the Church. 

Brother Azarias (1848-1893), Patrick Francis Mullaney, was born in Ire¬ 
land, where his early years were also spent. Coming to America with his 
parents, he was sent to the Academy of the Brothers of the Christian Doc¬ 
trine, in Utica, N. Y. Without the advantages of a college training, and 
almost without a master, he acquired the classic languages and several 
modern tongues Devoting his life to teaching, before he was fifteen he 
joined the Congregation of the Brothers. He was eminent as a professor of 
mathematics and English literature, and occupied important positions in 
his Society. Several times he went abroad and searched the European 
libraries in pursuit of his favorite study—education. Once he was united 
to deliver the principal address before the Concord School of Philosophy, 
and on that occasion read his essay on Aristotle and the Christian Church. He 
was identified, as one of the founders, with the Catholic Summer School, 
Plnttsburg, N. Y., and there he was prematurely carried off by pneumonia, 
after giving a course of five lectures on The Schools of Mediaeval Times. I he 
first work published by Brother Azarias was An Essay Contributing to a Phil¬ 
osophy of Literature , which attracted considerable attention, and u r as highly 
praised by Dr. Brownson as “ well written, full of just thought, sound phil¬ 
osophy. and faith in Christ.” Another important work was the Development of 
English Thought, a first volume on English literature, dealing with the Anglo- 



5G6 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


Saxon period. His other publications were 7 looks and Reading, Culture of 
(he Spiritual Sense, On Thinking, Fourfold Activity of the Soul, The Ideal in 
Thought, Psychological Aspects of Education. The style of this Christian 
Brother is a model of clearness and ease. 

Severn Teackle Wallis (1816-1894), a native of Baltimore, was perhaps 
• the most brilliant student of which St. Mary’s College, Baltimore, could 
boast. He soon became a remarkable lawyer, and stood to the end at the 
head of the bar. His two works, Glimpses of Spain and Spain, her Institutions, 
Politics, and Public Men, written in a polished and pleasing style, give a fairer 
view of that noble country than is generally presented. We, have, howe\ er, 
an objection to his attacks on the monks, and to his defence of their spolia¬ 
tion by the Spanish Government. Mr. Wallis has also published a Discourse 
on the Life and Character of George Peabody, and some fugitive poems, w hich 
deserve to be better known. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809- ), M.D., lias for many years attracted 

attention as a poet and prose writer. His verses are sometimes witty or 
humorous, sometimes pathetic, always polished, but never reaching a deep 
fibre of the heart or head. Among the best may be mentioned Old Ironsides, 
Astrcea, The Last Leaf, Bill and Joe. Of his humorous prose works, The 
Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table has had the greatest success, but its merits 
seem to have been overrated; The Professor at the Breakfast Table, and, The 
Poet at the Breakfast Table, were partial failures. Dr. Holmes has also 
written Elsie Venner, a Romance of Destiny ; Mechanism in Thought and 
Morals, the latter part of which reflects no credit on its author ; A Memoir 
of John Lothrop Motley; and the biography of Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
The language of Dr. Holmes upon religion is at times offensive, irreverent, 
shocking. Some of his utterances, for example, at the occasion of the Vati¬ 
can Council, were coarsely insulting to the venerable Head of the Catholic 
• Church, and her bishops : and, lately, in his absurd admiration of Emerson, 
he made that transcendentalist and pantheist, a close follower of the man 
Christ Jesus, and coming very near our best ideal of humanity. Culture, 
knowledge, experience, such as Dr. Holmes is acknowledged to possess, 
should have guided him better. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe (,1812- ) has acquired greater notoriety than any 

other American novelist. Her masterpiece, Uncle Tom's Cabin, published in 
1852, excited such a sensation that a million of copies were sold within nine 
months, and translations of it have been made in all European languages. 
The peculiar merits of the work are neither the anti-slavery sentiment, so 
violently obtruded upon the reader, nor any high perfection of style, but the 
dramatic manner in which the story is told, and the graphic delineation of 
characters. Her fame as a writer has now taken a downward course. Her 
other chief works are: The Minister's Wooing, The Pearls of Orr's Island, 
Pink and White Tyranny, My Wife and I, Agnes of Sorrento, and Old 
Town Folks. They are inferior to Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

Mrs. Anna Hanson Dorsey (1816- ), the daughter of highly respectable 

parents, may be considered the pioneer of Catholic light literature in the 
United States. Educated and married as a Protestant, she entered the 
Church in 1839, the first Catholic of her race for two hundred years. In 
1847, she began a life of literary toil which we might call an apostolate. 
Steadily refusing tempting offers to engage in sensational literature, hereon- 


TIIE PRESENT CENTURY. 


567 


slant object has been to counteract its evil effects on the Catholic youth 
of the country, by providing them with reading which would interest their 
minds, without injuring their faith or morals. Her efforts have been 
crowned with success. The Oriental Pearl, Coaina , The Bose of the Al- 
gonquins, The Sister of Charity, The. Flemmings, Tangled Paths, May 
Brooke, Nora Brady's Vow, and Mona the Vestal, are some of the sweet 
and graceful tales of this polished and prolific writer. She has been, be¬ 
sides, a constant contributor to Catholic magazines, particularly to the Ave 
Maria. 

Rev. Augustine F. Hewit, C. S. P. (1820- ), stands in the foremost rank 

of our essayists, reviewers, and philosophical writers. A native of Fairfield, 
Conn., and a graduate of Amherst College, he entered the Episcopalian min¬ 
istry. He was acting under Bistiop Ives of North Carolina, when, in 1846, he 
made his submission to the Catholic Church. After his ordination, he joined 
the Redemptorist Order, in which he remained until the Congregation of St. 
Paul was founded, in 1858. After the death of Fr. Hecker (1888) lie was 
elected Superior of the latter community. He has since been one of the 
most prominent members of the latter community. 

The following arc the chief publications of Father Hewit: The (Ports of 
Bishop England , edited in conjunction with Dr. Corcoran; Lives of Father 
Baker, C. S. P., Bishop Dnmoulin-Borie, a martyr of China, Princess Borghcse * 
and Aloysios , an Egyptian student of the Propaganda; The Problems of the 
Age, a philosophical exposition of the Catholic faith: Light in Darkness, a. 
short ascetic work. He has also written many articles for Brownson’s Rc- 
view.and The American Catholic Quarterly,and has been the mostassiduous 
contributor to The Catholic World. 

Mrs. Mary A. Sadlier, Miss Madden, (1820- ), was born in Ireland, 

whence she came to America in 1844, living successively in Montreal and 
New York. She has written about twenty works of fiction, and translated 
as many from the French. Among the former, the most interesting are The 
BLakes and Flanagans, Willy Burke, The Confederate Chieftains, and Con 
O'Regan. Dr. Brownson pronounced Willy Burke ‘an admirable story, 
written with great naturalness and simplicity, with real tenderness and true 
pathos.’ Most of her original stories are descriptive of Irish life, and have 
for their object the moral welfare of her co-religionists, especially those 
of her own race. Her translations equally bear a religious character, and 
have rendered effective service to Catholics. For nearly thirty years, Mrs. 
Sadlier wrote for the New York Freeman’s Journal, Boston Pilot, Montreal 
True Witness, and New York Tablet. 

Miss Mary Agnes Ttncker (1835- ), a gifted writer of stories, was born 

at Ellsworth, Me. Her masterpiece is The House of Yorke, which appeared 
first in the columns of The Catholic World in 1871. “ As a picture of gen¬ 
uine American life in New England it is unrivalled, coming as it does from 
one who has lived in the midst of such society; and as a work of art it is 
strong, original, and beautiful.”* Her other works arc A Winged Word 
(1872); Grapes and Thorns (1873); Six Sunny Months ( 1874); Signor MonaldinVs 
Niece (1878); By Lite Tiber (1880); The Jewel in the Lotos (1883); Aurora (1885); 
and Two Coro>iets (1889). 


* The London Tablet, July 20, 1872. 




568 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


James Ryder Randall (1839- ), a native of Baltimore, has acquired celeb¬ 

rity by his war lyrics, especially his Maryland, my Maryland. He has been 
appropriately styled the Tyrtaeus of the Secession war. 

Rev. James Kent Stone (1840- ) has made his name popular among 

Catholics by hi3 work called The Invitation Heeded, in which he gave his 
reasons to join the Catholic Church. It is a book as solid in substance as 
elegant in expression. Father Stone was born in Boston, graduated at Har¬ 
vard. and, soon after, was raised to the Presidency of Kenyon College, Ohio. 
He had next become President of Hobart College, Geneva, N. Y., when 
the invitation of Pius IX. to all non-Catholies to embrace the Catholic faith, 
occasioned his conversion. He was admitted into the Congregation of St. 
Paul, New York, but has since entered tin* Order of the Passionists, and is 
known as a zealous missioner under the name of Father Fidelis. 

James Lancaster Spalding (1842- ), the present Bishop of Peoria, is a 

native of Kentucky. His first work, the Life of Archbishop Spalding, his 
uncle, is remarkable not only for its animated and eloquent tone, but still 
more for the powerful grasp with which he handles the vital questions of 
the day. He has continued to exhibit the same power of thought and dic¬ 
tion in the small volume of Education and Higher Life, and in the numerous 
articles that he has contributed to the leading reviews of America. 

Francis Marion Crawford (1845- ), an American novelist, was born in 

Italy, where he has spent most of his life. Mr. Isaacs, published in 1882, gave 
him at once an enviable reputation, which some twenty additional novels 
have only increased. The most popular are Saracinesca, Sant’llano, Von 
Orsino, Marzio's Crucifix, Paul Patojf, Hr. Claudius, the Children of the King, 
Pietro Ghisleri, and Katharine Lauderdale. Few living writers of fiction can 
vie with Mr. Crawford. 

We might go on with our minor sketches, and call atten¬ 
tion to scores and hundreds of respectable living writers, 
but a line must be drawn somewhere. With what we have 
given our purpose seems attained. 




INDEX 


Abbreviations : Spec, for specimen ; ext. for extract. 


A. 

Abbot (The), a novel, by Scott, 
301. 

Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey , by 
Irving, 508. 

A. B. C., a poem, by Chaucer, 
63; ext., 72. 

Absalom and Achitophel, a political 
satire, by Dry den, 178. 

Account of his own Life , by Earl 
Clarendon, 187. 

Adams (John, 1735-1826), his 
eloquence, 442; on Otis, 445. 

Addison, 190; spec., 192; com¬ 
pared with Johnson, 256; the 
American —, a name given to 
Dennie, 475. 

Address on Washington Irving , by 
Bryant, 537. 

Address to 'the N. Y. Convention, 
by Jay, 464. 

Address to the People of Great 
Britain, by Jay, 463. 

Admirals (The Two), a novel, by 
Cooper, 490. 

Adrian (Abbot), sent to England, 

11 . 

Adventures (The) of Capt. Bonne¬ 
ville, by Irving, 508. 

Adversity (Ode to), by Gray, 236. 

^Elfric the Grammarian, 27; spec., 
28. 

JEneid done into English verse, by 
Win. Morris, 432. 

JEtius, letter sent to him by the 
Britons, 4. 

Age of Reason, Franklin’s warn¬ 
ing about its publication, 448. 

Ages (The), by Bryant, 536. 


Ages (The Four), a didactic poem, 
by Cowper, 278. 

Agricola, his conquest of Brit¬ 
ain, 2. 

Aids to Reflection, by Coleridge, 
313. 

Akenside (Mark), 282. 

Alastor, a poem, by Shelley, 289. 

Alchymist , a comedy, by Ben Jon- 
son, 141. 

Alcuin, 21; A ddress to his Cell, 
23. 

Aldhelm (St.), 17. 

Alembert, D’, a French infidel 
writer (1717-1783), 138. 

Aletheia, by Pise, 560. 

Alexander the Great , a poem, by 
Adam Davie, 55 ; a drama, by 
A. de Vere, 414. 

Alexander's Feast, an ode, by Dry- 
den, 179, 182. 

Alfred the Great, 24; spec., 27; 
on St. Aldhelm, 17; his char¬ 
acter, by Hume, 252. 

Alhambra (The), by Irving, 507. 

Alison (Sir Archibald), 426; on 
Southey’s Histories, 321; on 
Lord Jeffrey, 341 ; on Pres¬ 
cott, 504. 

All for Jesus, by Father Faber, 
368. 

Allegiance (Vatican Decrees and 
Civil), by Card. Manning, 402. 

Allen (Cardinal), founder of 
Douay College, 104, note; su¬ 
perintends the translation of 
the Douay Bible, 146. 

Allen (Dr., 1770-1843)', on Lin- 
gard’s style, 345. 


569 







570 


INDEX. 


Alii bone (S. A., 1816- ), on 

Chaucer's last hours, 6G; on 
Addison, 191; on Steele, 198 ; 
on Hume’s History , 250; on 
Franklin’s latitudinarianism, 
446; on Jefferson’s infidelity, 
460; on Dennie, 474. 

Allies (Thomas William), 409; 
spec., 412. 

Alloquium , by St. Anselm, 44. 

Allston (Washington), 482; spec., 
483. 

Alumnae ( Poor Richard’s), by 
Franklin, 446. 

Alnwick Castle, by Halleck, 521. 

Ambiguity of the Eng. Language, 
a satire, by Hopkinson, 453. 

Amelia, a novel, by Fielding, 
282. 

America (Rising Gloiy of Amer¬ 
ica), a poem, by Brackenridge, 
457. 

America to Great Britain, by All¬ 
ston, 483. 

American Liberty (Centenary of), 
a sonnet, by Aubrey de Vere, 
416. 

American Literature, 1st period, 
435-442; 2d, 442-471; 3d,471- 
557; progress of —, 471; Cy¬ 
clopaedia of —, see Duvckinck. 

American Notes, by Dickens, 377. 

American Revolution* (History of 
the), by Ramsay, 456. 

American ( The) Republic, by 
Brownson, 533. 

Ames (Fisher, 1758-1808), an 
American orator, 442. 

Among my Books, criticisms, by 
J. R. Lowell, 564. 

Amoretti, sonnets, by Spenser, 110. 

Anatomy of Melancholy, by Bur¬ 
ton, 150. 

Ancren Riuic , 49. 

Angel in the House, by Patmore, 
431, 432. 

Angler (The Complete), by Walton, 

188 . 

Angles, a Germanic tribe, invade 
Britain, 4. 

Anglo-Saxons, their invasion of 


Britain, 4; conversion, 6; be¬ 
ginning of their literature, 7; 
characteristics of their poetry, 
8; their learning, 9; charac¬ 
teristics of the A. S. Period, 
31; A. S. Chronicle,. 31. 

Angus (Joseph, 1816- ), his 

comparison of Southwell with 
Goldsmith, 104; on Jonson’s 
plays, 142; on Swift, 216; on 
Thomson, 221 ; on the causes 
of bad writing, 216; Cowper, 
278. 

Annabel Lee, a poem, by Poe, 
486. 

Annals of the Four Masters, 146. 

A nnals of Tigernachus, 13. 

Anne of Geierstein, a novel, by 
Scott, 301. 

Annual Register, founded by 
Burke, 274. 

Annus Mirabilis, a historical poem 
by Dryden, 178. 

Anselm (St.), 42, 43. 

Antar and Zara, a romance, by 
Aubrey de Vere, 414. 

Antiquary {The), a novel, by Scott, 
301. 

Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon 
Church, by Lingard, 344. 

Apollonius of Tyana, an essay, by 
Card. Newman, 395. 

Apologia, by Card. Newman, 395. 

Apothegms, by Franklin, 450. 

Appeal, by Card. Wiseman, 371. 

Appeal (An) from the judgments of 
Great Britain, by Walsh, 511. 

Areopagitica, by Milton, 159. 

Aristotle and the Christian Church , 
an essay, by Brother Azarias, 
565. 

Armada ('The Spanish), a lyric 
poem, bv Macaulay, 360. 

Arnold (Matthew), 429. 

Arnold (Thomas), son, on Blind 
Harry’s Wallace, 86 ; on leaders 
of the Reformation in regard 
to literature, 93. 

Arnold (Thomas), of Rugby, 
423. 

Ars Metrica, by Ven. Bede, 19. 



INDEX. 


571 


Artevelde {Philip Van), a play, by 
Sir Henry Taylor, 429. 

Arthur (King), 172, note. 

As You Like It, a comedy, by 
Shakespeare, 121. 

Ascliam (Roger), 82 ; spec., 83. 

Aspirations of the Soul, by I. T. 
Hecker, 552. 

Assolando,a poem, by Hobt.Brown¬ 
ing, 430. 

Astoria, by Irving, 498. 

Atheism (Defence of), by Shelley, 
289. 

Augustan Age of English liter¬ 
ature, 103. 

Augustine (Cicero and St.), a par¬ 
allel, by Allies, 412. 

Augustine (St.) is sent as a mis- 
sioner to England, 6; promotes 
letters, 7; his arrival in Kent 
described by Bede, 20. 

Austen (Miss Jane), 421. 

Autibiography of Franklin, 447; — 
of Jefferson, 460. 

Autocrat at the Breakfast Table, by 
O. W. Holmes, 566. 

A utumn ( To), by Keats, 288. 

Ave to Mary, by D. G. Rossetti, 
429. 

Azarias (Brother), 565. 

B. 

Backwoodsman {The), a poem, by 
Paulding, 512. 

Bacon (Lord), 136; spec., 139. 

Bacon (Roger), 51. 

Bale, John, on the destruction of 
books, 90, note. 

Ballad of Trees and the Master, by 
Sidney Lanier, 563. 

Ballad (A Camp), an allegory, by 
Hopkinson, 452. 

Ballads, by Southey, 321; spec., 
323; by Wordsworth, 334; by 
Longfellow, 545. 

Bancroft (George), 553; spec.,554; 
on the abolition of the slave- 
trade, 100; on Sandys’s verse, 
437; on Sir Geo. Caivert. 438; [ 
on the Rhode Island Charter j 
of religious rights, 438, note; | 


his acknowledgment to C. Col- 
den, 441. 

Banim (John), 423. 

Barbour, a Scotch poet, 85. 

Bard {The), an ode, by Gray, 
236. 

Barnaby Budge, a novel, by Dick¬ 
ens, 37 6. 

Barry (William), a Catholic di¬ 
vine, on Robert Browning, 431. 

Baston (Robert), 55. 

Battle ( The) Field, by Brvant, 537. 

Battle of the Baltic, an ode, by 
Campbell, 325. 

Battle ( The) of the Books, by Swift, 
215. 

Battle ( The) of the Kegs, a ballad, 
by Hopkinson, 452. 

Beattie (James), 420. 

Beaumont (Francis), 149. 

Bede (Venerable), 18; spec., 20; 
on'Caedmon, 16 ; his opinion of 
St. Aldhelm’s scholarship, 17. 

Bee ( The), a periodical, 243; ext., 
248. 

Bees (The Commonwealth of), by 
Shakespeare, 131. 

Beggar's {The) Opera, by Gay, 281. 

Belfry {The) of Bruges, by Long¬ 
fellow, 545. 

Belknap (Jeremy), 453. 

Bells {The), by Poe, 486. 

Bentley (Richard), 281. 

Beowulf, an Anglo-Saxon poem, 
15, note. 

Beppo, a romantic poem, by By¬ 
ron, 294. 

Bethlehem, by Faber, 368. 

Bible (Translation of the), 88,146. 

Bible (Douay), 146, 284. 

Biglow Papers, by Lowell, 564. 

Biographia Literaria, by Cole¬ 
ridge, 313. 

Bishop (A Representative), by 
Marshall, 385. 

Black Dwarf, a novel, by Scott, 
301. 

Blackwood Magazine, 340, note; 
on Macaulay’s History, 361. 

Bleak House, a novel, by Dickens, 
377. 



572 


INDEX. 


Blessed ( The ) Sacrament, by Faber, 
368. 

Blind Harry, a Scotch poet, 86. 

Blithedale {The) Romance, by Haw¬ 
thorne, 518. 

Blot (A) in the ’Scutcheon , a poem, 
by Robert Browning, 430. 

Blount (Charles, 1654-1693), an 
impious writer, 95. 

Boethius (470-525), his Consola¬ 
tion of Philosophy, translated by 
Alfred, 26. 

Bolingbroke, an infidel philoso¬ 
pher, 95, 208, 272. 

Bonneville {Adventures of Captain), 
by Irving, 508. 

Book of the Church, by Southey, 
322. 

Books and Reading, an essay, by 
Brother Azarias, 565. 

Borough {The), a poem, by Crabbe, 
311. 

Boswell (James, 1740-1795), his 
Life of S. Johnson, 256. 

Bowles (William Lisle, 1762- 
1850), an English poet and 
editor of Pope’s Works, 209. 

Boyce (John), 559. 

Boyle O’Reilly, see O’Reilly. 

Boy's Book, by Mrs. Sigourney, 
500. 

Boz (Sketches by), by Dickens, 
375. 

Bozzaris, a war lyric, by Hal leek, 
521, 522. 

Bracebridge Hall, by Irving, 507. 

Brackenridge (Hugh IL), 456; 
spec., 458. 

Bride {The) of Abydos , a romantic 
poem, by Byron, 293. 

Bride {The) of Lammermoor, a 
novel, by Scott, 301. 

Bridge {The) of Sighs, by Hood, 
423. 

Britons, their wars against the 
Romans, their pagan manners, 
conversion, 1, 2. 

Bronte (Charlotte) 425. 

Brother Azarias, 565. 

Brougham (Henry, Lord, 1777- 
1868), an English statesman 


and writer, on Dryden’s prose, 
180. 

Brown (C. B.), 473. 

Browne (Sir Thomas), 188. 

Browning (Mrs.), 425. 

Browning (Robert), 430. 

Brownson (Orestes A.), 530; spec., 
534; on Wordsworth, 336; on 
Wiseman’s Fabiola and Essays, 
371; on Daniel Webster, 496; 
on G. H. Miles, 549. 

Brownson’s Quarterly Review, 531. 

Bruce {Panegyric on Robert), by 
Robert Baston, 55; The Bruce, 
by Barbour, 85. 

Brut d’Angleterre, by Wace, 47. 

Bryant (W. Cullen), 535; spec., 
538; on Halleck, 521. 

Brydges (Sir S. Egerton, 1762- 
1837), an English writer, on 
Gray, 236. 

Buccaneer {The), a poem, by R. 
H. Dana, 540. 

Buckingham {Life of the Duke of), 
by Sackvi He, 116. 

Bugle (The) Song, by Tennyson, 
408. 

Bulwer-Lytton (Sir Edward), 380. 

Bunker {First and Second) Hill 
Speech, by D. Webster, 495, 497, 
529. 

Bunyan (John), 176. 

Burke (Edmund), 272; spec., 275; 
his encouragement of Crabbe, 
310. 

Burnett (Gilbert), 281. 

Burning {The) Babe , a poem, by 
Southwell, 104, 107. 

Burns (Robert), 268; spec., 269; 
Halleck’s elegy on, 521. 

Burton (Robert), 150. 

Butler (Alban), 283. 

Butler (Charles), 422. 

Butler (Samuel), 171; spec., 173. 

Byron (Lord), 293; spec., 296; 
his lines on Wordsworth, 335. 

C. 

Cacique {The) of Kiavah, a novel, 
by W. G. Simms, 561. 

Caedmon, 15; spec., 9, 16. 



INDEX. 


573 


Caesar, his attempts to conquer 
Britain, 2. 

Ccesarism and U/tramontanism, by 
Cardinal Manning, 401. 

Cain, a drama, by Byron, 294. 

Calderon de la Barca (1600-1681), 
the Spanish Shakespeare, 428. 

Calhoun (John), 488; spec., 488. 

California and Oregon Trail ( The), 
by Parkman, 556. 

Callista, a religious story, by Car¬ 
dinal Newman, 395.. 

Calvert (Sir George, Lord Balti¬ 
more, 1582 (?)-1632), 438. 

Calm (.4), by Coleridge, 315. 

Cambrensis (Giraldus), 47. 

Camden (William), a famous an¬ 
tiquary, 149; on St. Aldhelm, 
17. 

Campaign ( The), a poem, by Ad¬ 
dison, 190. 

Campbell (Thomas), 325; spec., 
327 ; on Goldsmith, 244. 

Campion (Edmund), 148. 

Canada (The Old Regime in), by 
Parkman, 556. 

Canterbury Tales, by Chaucer, 64; 
ext., 66. 

Cantu (Cesare, 1805- ), the cel¬ 
ebrated author of a Universal 
History, 138. 

Captain Singleton, by Defoe, 202. 

Carey (Matthew), 444, 558. 

Carleton (William), 427. 

Carlyle (Thomas), 390; spec., 
392. 

Carroll (Charles, of Carrollton, 
1737-1832), 443. 

Carroll (John, 1735-1815), 443. 

Castle (The) of Indolence, an alle¬ 
gory, by Thomson, 221 ; ext., 
223. 

Catiline , a tragedy, by Ben Jon- 
son, 142. 

Cato, a tragedy, by Addison, 191. 

Caxton (William), 77. 

Caxtonia, by Bulwer, 381. 

Caxtons ( The), a novel, by Bul¬ 
wer, 380. 

Celtic language, xxiii; race, 1. 

Cenci (The), by Shelley, 289. 


Challenge (Reply to a), by H. H. 
Brackenridge, 458. 

Challoner (Richard), 283. 

Chambers (Robert, 1802-1871), 
author of Cyclopaedia of Eng. 
Lit., on Lingard’s History, 345; 
on Irving’s style, 508. 

Character and Characteristic Men, 
by Whipple, 563. 

Character of a Yorkshire School¬ 
master, by Dickens, 378. 

Character of Alfred the Great, 
by Hume, 252. 

Character of Timour, by Gibbon, 
266. 

Character of Washington, by Jef¬ 
ferson, 462; Oration on the, by 
England, 480. 

Character of Ximenes, by Rob¬ 
ertson, 262. 

Character of Zingis, by Gibbon, 
266. 

Charter-house (a corruption of 
Chartreuse, i. e., Carthusian), a 
celebrated school in England, 
151, 196, 363. 

Chartism, by Carlyle, 391. 

Chatham, William, first Earl of 
(1708-1778), a great statesman 
and orator, 189. 

Chatterton (Thomas), 282. 

Chaucer, 61; spec., 66. 

Cherwell Water-lily , a volume of 
poems, by Faber, 367. 

Chesse (Game of the), first book 
printed in England, 77. 

Childe Harold, a descriptive poem, 
by Byron, 293, 294; ext., 296. 

Child’s Rook, by Mrs. Sigourney, 
500. 

Chillon (The Prisoner of), a poem, 
by Byron, 294. 

Chivalry (Modern), by H. H. 
Brackenridge, 457. 

Christabel, a poem, by Coleridge, 
313; ext., 316. 

Christine, a poem, by G. H. Miles, 
562. 

Christmas Eve, a poem, by Robert 
Browning, 430. 

Christmas Tales, by Dickens, 377. 



574 


INDEX. 


Chronicle ( Anglo-Saxon ), 31. 

Chronicle, by Hubert Mannyng, 
54. 

Chroniclers (Rhyming), 46, 54. 

Chronicles of the Canongate, a novel, 
by Scott, 301. 

Chrysostom (St. John), as an or¬ 
ator, by Card. Newman, 396. 

Church and. State,, by T. M. Allies, 
411. 

Church Defence, by Marshall, 
384. 

Church (Description of the), by 
Hopkinson, 452. 

Church (St. Peter’s), at Rome, by 
Byron, 297. 

Church (the Catholic), what she 
has done for literature and 
Christian civilization, 6, 36, 99, 
371. 

Cicero, an essay, by Card. New¬ 
man, 395. 

Cicero (Sketch of), applied to 
Card. Newman, 394. 

Cicero and St. Augustine, a par¬ 
allel, by Allies, 412. 

Citizen {The) of the World, by 
Goldsmith, 243. 

Clara Howard, a novel, by C. B. 
Brown, 473. 

Clarissa Harlowe, a novel, by Rich¬ 
ardson, 282. 

Classical Learning {Essay on), by 
H. S. Legar6, 558. 

Clay (Henry), 558. 

Clerical Friends {My), by Mar¬ 
shall, 384. 

Cleveland (C. D., 1802-1869), on 
Father Southwell’s treatment, 
104 ; on Byron’s works, 296. 

Cloud. {The), by Shelley, 290. 

Cobbett (William, 1762-1835), on 
the destruction of libraries, 90. 

Colden (Cadwallader), 441. 

Coleridge (S. T.) 312; spec., 314. 

Colin Clout’s come Home again, a 
poem, by Spenser, 110. 

Collegians {The), a novel, by Ger¬ 
ald Griffin, 422. 

Collins (Wm.), 225; spec., 227. 

Colloquium, by JElfric, 28. 


Colombo’s Birthday, a poem, by 
Robert Browning, 430. 

Colonel Jack, by Defoe, 202. 

Columba, St., or Columbkille, 12. 

Columbus {Life of), by Irving, 507. 

Columbus {Pictures of), by Fre¬ 
neau, 468. 

Comedy {The) of Convocation, by 
Marshall, 383. 

Comic Writers, by Hazlitt, 421. 

Communion, by Faber, 369. 

Comus, a masque, by Milton, 158. 

Conferences {Spiritual), by Faber, 
368. 

Confessio A mantis, a poem, by 
Gower, 74. 

Congreve (William), 257, note; 
on Dryden, 180. 

Conquest of Granada, a play, by 
Dryden, 177. 

Conquest of Granada, by Irving, 
507. 

Conquest of Mexico, by Prescott, 
503 ; ext., 505; of Peru, ibid. 

Consecration {The), by Robert 
Browning, 430. 

Consolation of Philosophy, by Boe¬ 
thius, translated by Alfred the 
Great, 26. 

Constable (Henry), 149; his son¬ 
net to Mary, 150. 

Constance Sherwood, a religious 
novel, by Lady Fullerton, 429. 

Constitution of the U. S., debates 
in the convention that framed 
it, recorded by Madison, 470; 
Histoi'y of the, by Bancroft, 554. 

Constitutional Histoi'y of England, 
by Hallam, 356. 

Contemporary Portraits, by Haz¬ 
litt, 421. 

Continental {The Old), by Paul¬ 
ding, 513. 

Conversations ( Imaginai'y), by Lan- 
dor, 426. 

Conversion (The) of the A.-S. 
People, by Newman, 396. 

Convert {The), by Brownson, 530, 
533. 

Convocation {The Comedy of), by 
Marshall, 383. 




INDEX. 


575 


Cooper (Fenimore), 489; spec., 
490. 

Coopers Hill y by Denham, 187. 

Copernicus (Nicolas, 1473-1543), 
the celebrated astronomer, 138. 

C'oplas de Manrique, by Longfel¬ 
low, 545. 

Correspondence of Jefferson, 400. 

Corsair (The ), a romantic poem, 
by Byron, 293. 

Cowley (Abraham), 153; spec., 
155. 

Cowper (William), 276; spec., 
279; Life of, by Southey, 322. 

Crabbe (George), 309; spec., 311. 

Cradle Lands, by Lady Herbert, 
431. 

Craik (Prof., 1799-1866), on Dun¬ 
bar, 86; on Cowper’s Homer, 
278. 

Crashaw (Richard), 151; spec., 
152. 

Crawford (Francis M.), 568. 

Ci'eator (The) and the Creature, by 
Father Faber, 368. 

Critic ( The), a comedy, by Sheri¬ 
dan, 421. 

Cromwell (Essay on), by Cow¬ 
ley, 154. 

Cromwell (Letters and Speeches of), 
by Carlyle, 391. 

Crusades (The), their civilizing 
influence, 99. 

Curriculum of a liberal educa¬ 
tion in mediaeval times, 38. 

Curse of Kehamn, an epic poem, 
by Southey, 320. 

Cyclopaedia (Rees’s American), on 
novel-reading, 308. 

Cyclopaedia of American Literature, 
see Duyckinck ; — of English 
Literature, see Chambers. 

D. 

Damozel (The Blessed), by D. G. 
Rossetti, 429. 

Dana (R. H.), 540; spec., 541. 

Daniel Deronda, a novel, by 
George Eliot, 387. 

Dante’s Divina Commedia trans¬ 
lated by Longfellow, 545. 


Dante, an essav on, by Lowell, 
564. 

Dante and his Circle, by D. G. 
Rossetti, 429. 

Darwin (Charles Robert, 1809- 
1882), an English infidel nat¬ 
uralist, 95, 285. 

Davenant (Sir William), 187. 

Davie (Adam), 55. 

David Copperjield, a novel, by 
Dickens, 377. 

Davideis, an epic poem, by Cow¬ 
ley, 154. 

Davis (Thomas), 423. 

Davy (Sir Humphrey, 1778- 
1829), an English scientist, on 
Franklin’s style, 448. 

Day of Doom, by Wigglesworth, 
439. 

Daybreak, by Dana, 541. 

Death of the Flowers, by Bryant, 
537. 

Death’s Fined Conquest, by Shir¬ 
ley, 186. 

Declaration of American Independ¬ 
ence, 459. 

Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire, by Gibbon, 263; ext., 
266. 

Deerslayer (The), a novel, by 
Cooper, 490. 

Defoe (Daniel), 201; spec., 203. 

Degrees (Academical) in medi¬ 
aeval Universities, 40. 

Demonology (Letters on), bv Scott, 
302. 

Denham (Sir John), 187. 

Dennie (Joseph), 474. 

Descriptive Sketches in Verse, by 
Wordsworth, 334. 

Deserted (The) Village , by Gold¬ 
smith, 244; ext., 246. 

Dickens (Charles), 375, spec., 
378. 

Dictionary of the English Lan¬ 
guage, by Johnson, 254. 

Didactics, by Walsh, 511. 

Diderot (Denis, 1713-1784), a 
French infidel writer, 138. 

Digby (Sir Kenelm), 186; Ken- 
elm Digby, 428. 





576 


INDEX. 


Dirge in Cymbeline, an elegy, by 
Collins, 226. 

Disraeli (Benjamin), Earl Bea- 
consfield, 428; his opinion of 
the Oxford Movement, 394. 

Doctor {The), by Southey, 321. 

Dombey and Son , a novel, by 
Dickens, 377. 

Don Juan, a poem, by Byron, 
294. 

Donne (John, 1573-1631), an 
English poet, his Life, by Wal- j 
ton, 188. 

Dorsey (Mrs. Anna Hanson), 
566. 

Dover Beach, a poem, by Matthew 
Arnold, 429. 

Dovle (James), 422; on Butler, 
283. 

Drake (J. R., 1795-1820), Hal- 
leck’s elegy on, 521. 

Drama (Early), 118. 

Drapier’s Letters, by Swift, 215. 

Drayton (Michael), 149; his 
Epistle to Sandys, 437. 

Dream of Gerontius, by Card. 
Newman, 395. 

Dream {The) of Eugene Aram, by 
Hood, 423. 

Dryden (John), 177 ; spec., 181; 
on Shakespeare, 123; com¬ 
pared with Pope by Johnson, 
258; his works edited by Scott, 
301. 

Dublin Review ( The), 286, note; 
on Moore, 351 ; on Hallam, 
357 ; on Dickens, 377. 

Dud (Origin and History of the), 
by John England, 480; ext., 
481. 

Dulness {Progi'ess o/), a satirical 
poem, by Trumbull, 465. 

Dumb {The) Philosopher, a story, 
by Defoe, 202. 

Dunbar (William), a celebrated 
Scotch poet, 86. 

Duncan Campbell, by Defoe, 202. 

Dunciad, by Pope, 208. 

Dunstan (St.), 27. 

Duquesne lFort), described by 
Park man, 557. 


Dutchman's ( The) Fireside, a novel, 
by Paulding, 513. 

Duyckinck (Evart, 1816-1878, 
and George, 1823-1863), au¬ 
thors of the Cyclopaedia of Amer¬ 
ican Literature, on Sandys’s Ovid, 
437; on 2d period of Amer. 
Lit., 437 ; on Wirt, 476. 

Dwight (Timothy, 1752-1817), 
Pres, of Yale, on McFingal, 
466. 

R 

Easter Day, a poem, by Robert 
Browning, 430. 

Edgar Huntley, a novel, by C. B. 
Brown, 473. 

Edgeworth (Miss Maria), 424. 

Edinburgh Review, 285; its foun¬ 
dation and editorship, 340 ; on 
Lingard’s style, 345; on Hal- 
lam’s Literature, 357; on 
Thackeray’s Vanity Fair, 364. 

Edmund (St.), 46. 

Edward II., a drama, by Mar¬ 
lowe, 148. 

Edward III., his knowledge of 
English, 57. 

Edward IV., the earliest king to 
appoint a poet-laureate, 57. 

Education {Oration on Classical), 
by John England, 480. 

! Egbert, Archbishop of York, 11; 
his school, 22. 

Elegy written in a Counting Church¬ 
yard, by Gray, 235, 237. 

Eleutherius (Pope, 177-186), 2. 

Elia {Essays of), by Lamb, 317. 

Eliot (George), 386; spec., 388. 

Emancipation (Catholic, 1829), 
286. 

Embargo {The) , a poetical satire, 
by Bryant, 536. 

Emerson (Ralph Waldo), 541; 
spec., 543. 

End of Religious Controversy, by 
Milner, 421. 

Endymion, by Keats, 287 ; a novel, 
by Disraeli, 428. 

England, her conversion to 
Christianity, 2, 6, 396. 






INDEX. 


577 


England (John), 479; spec., 
481. 

Enylisli Bards and Scotch Review¬ 
ers, a satire in verse, by Byron, 
293; ext., 335. 

English Language ( Ambiguiti/ of 
the), a satire, by Hopkinson, 
453. 

English Language, its origin, 5; 
number of its words, 5. 

English Literature, its division 
into periods : Anglo-Saxon, 1- 
31 ; Semi-Saxon, 31-49 ; Old 
English, 49-56; Middle Eng¬ 
lish, 56-91; Modern English, 
91; its character under Eliza¬ 
beth, 103, 342; in second half 
of the 17th centurv, 150; 18th 
century, 188 ; 19th, 284. 

English Traits, by Emerson, 542; 
ext., 543. 

English Verse (Science of), by Sid¬ 
ney Lanier, 563. 

Epicene, a drama, by Ben Jonson, 
141. 

Epicurean (The), a tale, by Moore, 
351. 

Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, by 
Pope, 208. 

Epistles, Odes, and Other Poems, 
by Moore, 350. 

Epistle to a Young Friend, by 
Burns, 269. 

Epistles, by Pope, 208. 

Epistola de Excidio Britannia, by 
St. Gildas, 14. 

Epitaph—of Bede, 20; S. Butler, 
173; Coleridge, 314; Wiggles- 
worth, 440. 

Epithalamion, a bridal ode, by 
Spenser, 110. 

Erectheus, a tragedy, by Swin¬ 
burne, 432. 

Erin (Exile of), an ode, by Camp¬ 
bell, 325, 329. 

Escape from a Panther, by Coop¬ 
er, 490. 

Esmond, a novel, by Thackeray, 
364. 

Essag on Assent, by Card. New¬ 
man, 395. 

37 


Essay on Criticism, by Pope, 207; 
ext., 210, 211. 

Essay on Dramatic Poetry, by Dry- 
den, 179. 

Essay on Man, by Pope, 208; ext., 
212 . 

Essay on the Sublime and' Beauti¬ 
ful, by Burke, 272. 

Essay on Whitewashing, a satire, 
by Hopkinson, 452. 

Essays, by Wiseman, 372; by Car¬ 
lyle, 390 ; by B. Franklin, 449 ; 
by Emerson, 542 ; by H. S. Le- 
gare, 558. 

Essays (Biographical and Critical), 
by Tuekerman, 561. 

| Essays (Critical and Historical), by 
Macaulay, 360. 

Essays (Moral), by Lord Bacon, 
137 ; ext., 139; by Pope, 208. 

Essays (Moral and Political ), by 
D. Hume, 249; Philosophical, 
ibid. 

Ethelwold, St., 28. 

Elton College (Ode on ),by Gray,235. 

Eulogium on Dr. Rush, by Kamsay, 
456. 

Euphuism, 103. 

Europe in Middle Ages, by Hal- 
lain, 356; Literature of, in the 
15th , 16th, and 17th Centuries, 
357. 

Evangeline, a tale in verse, by 
Longfellow, 545; ext., 547. 

Eve of St. Agnes (The), by Keats, 
287. 

Evening (Ode to), by Collins, 226, 
230.' 

Evening (An) Walk, an epistle in 
verse, by Wordsworth, 334. 

Every Man in his Humor, a com¬ 
edy, by Ben Jonson, 141. 

Evesham school, 28. 

Evidences of Catholicity, by M. J. 
Spalding, 528. 

Evidences of Christianity, by Ad¬ 
dison, 191. 

Evils (The Four Great) of the day, 
bv Card. Manning, 401. 

Excursion (The), by Wordsworth, 
335. 




578 


INDEX. 


Exile of Erin , an ode, by Camp¬ 
bell, 325, 329. 

Eyre (Jane), a novel, by Charlotte 
Brontd, 425. 

F. 

Faber (F. W.), 366; spec., 368. 

Fabiola, a religious story, by Card. 
Wiseman, 371; ext., 373. 

Fables, by Dryden, 179; by Gay, 
281. 

Fairie (The) Queene, by Spenser, 
110; exi., 112. 

Fame (Vanity of Popular), by 
Goldsmith, 248. 

Fanny, a satire, by Halleck, 521. 

Farrago (The), by Dennie, 474. , 

Father Rowland, a tale, by C. Pise, 
560. 

Father Laval, by McSherrv, 561. 

Faun(Marble), by Hawthorne,518. 

Fauslus, a drama, by Marlowe, 
148. 

Fear, an ode, by W. Collins, 226. 

Feasts and Fasts, by Butler, 283. 

Federalist (The)' 443, 454, 455. 

Federalists and anti-Federalists, 
459, 470. 

Ferdinand and Isabella (Reign of), 
by Prescott, 503. 

Feudalism, 99. 

Fielding (Henry), 282; character 
of his novels, 282, 307. 

Filostrato, 62. 

Fingcd and Temora, poems, by 
Macpherson, 420. 

Flaqet (Life of Bishop ), by M. J. 
Spalding, 528. 

Fletcher (John), 149. 

Flower (The) and the Leaf, an alle¬ 
gorical poem, by Chaucer, 62. 

Fly (The House), by Ruslan, 418. 

Fontenoy, a poem, by Thos. Davis, 
424. 

Foot (The) of the Cross, by Faber, 
36S. 

Foresters (The), an allegory, by 
Belknap, 453. 

Formation ( The) of Christendom, 
by Allies, 411 ; spec., 412. 

Fors Clavigera, by Buskin, 417. 


Fort Duquesne, described by Park- 
man, 557. 

Fortunes (The) of Nigel, a novel, 
by Scott, 301. 

Francis (Sir Philip, 1740-1818), 
241. 

Franklin (Benjamin), 445; spec., 
449; on Hume’s death, 250; 
Life of —, by Sparks, 524; his 
warning to Paine, 448. 

Frederick the Great, by Campbell, 
326; by Carlyle, 391; his por¬ 
trait, 392. 

French (The) Revolution, by Car¬ 
lyle, 391. 

Freneau (Philip), 467 ; spec., 468. 

Friend (The), a periodical edited 
by Coleridge, 313. 

Frivolities of Courtiers, by John of 
Salisbury, 45. 

Fudge Family in Paris, a satire, 
by Moore, 350. 

Frontenae and New France under 
Louis XIV., by Park man, 556. 

Fullerton (Lady Georgiana), 429. 

Funeml (The), a comedy, by Steele, 
197. 

G. 

Galileo (1564-1542), a celebrated 
Italian astronomer, 138. 

Gamesters, a play, by Shirley, 186. 

Gay (John), 281. 

Geoffrey of Monmouth, 47. 

Germanic or Teutonic race, 1. 

Gerontius (Dream of), by Card. 
Newman, 395. 

Gertrude of Wyoming, a tale in 
verse, by Campbell, 326. 

Giaour, a romantic poein, by By¬ 
ron, 293. 

Gibbon (Edward), 263; spec., 266. 

Gifford (William, 1757-1826), a 
celebrated English critic, 287. 

Gildas (St.), 13; spec., 15. 

Giraldus Cambrensis, 47. 

Gleanings in Europe, by Cooper, 
490. ' 

Glossary, by A^lfric, 28. 

Gloucester (Robert of), a rhym¬ 
ing chronicler, 54. 






INDEX. 


579 


Glove {The), a poem, by Robert 
Browning, 430. 

Godwin (Parke, 1816- ), on 

Bryant, 537. 

Goldsmith (Oliver), 242; spec., 
246; Life of —, by Irving, 
509. 

Gondibert, a poem, by Davenant, 
187. 

Good-natured Man, a comedy, by 
Goldsmith, 244. 

Gorboduc, the earliest English 
tragedy, by Sackville, 115,119. 

Gorham Case (The), 399, note; 
411. 

Gospels {Translation of the Four), 
by Lingard, 347. 

Gotham {The Three Wise Men of), 
a satire, by Paulding, 513. 

Government, its positive office, 
by Brownson, 534. 

Gower (John), 73. 

Grammar {Latin-Saxon), by vEl- 
fric, 28. 

Grammar {English), by Jonson, 
141. 

Grandison {Sir Charles), a novel, 
by Richardson, 282. 

Gray (Thomas), 235 ; spec., 237. 

Great Expectations, a novel, by 
Dickens, 377. 

Greece and Turkey {Sketches of), 
by Aubrey de Vere, 413. 

Greece {History of), by Grote, 
427. 

Gregory (St.), the Great, sends 
missioners to England, 6 ; his 
Pastoral Care , translated by 
King Alfred, 26. 

Griffin (Gerald), 422. 

Griswold (Rufus, 1815-1857), on 
Bancroft’s style, 554. 

Grosseteste (Robert), 46. 

Grote (George), 427. 

Guardian (The), 190, 197. 

Guizot (1787-1874), on liberty 
in Germany, 97. 

Gullivers Travels, by Swift, 215 ; 
ext., 218. 

Gvy Mannering, a novel, by Scott, 
301. 


Guy Rivers , a novel, by W. G. 
Simms, 561. 

Gysippus, a tragedy, by G. Grif¬ 
fin, 422. 

H. 

Habington (William), 186. 

Hadad, a drama, by ilillhouse, 
478. 

Hail Columbia, by Jos. Hopkin- 
son, 558. 

Half-Century of Conflict (A), by 
Parkman, 556. 

Ilall (Edward, 1499(?)-1547), an 
English chronicler, 122. 

Hall am (Henry), 356; spec., 358; 
on the transition of the Saxon 
into the English language, 34 ; 
his views on the preservation 
of the Latin language, 36; on 
More’s Utopia, 78; on the in¬ 
fluence of the Reformation 
upon literature, 93; on social 
order, 96; religious liberty, 
97, 98 ; Shakespeare’s Macbeth, 
122; Shakespeare’s Sonnets, 125; 
Drayton’s Polyolbion, 149; 
Shakespeare’s genius, 358. 

Halleck (Fitz-Greene), 521 ; 
spec., 522. 

Hallhvell (J. O., an English ar¬ 
chaeologist, 1820- ), on Man- 
deville’s Travels, 58. 

Hamilton (Alexander), 443, 
454. 

Hamlet, a tragedy, by Shake¬ 
speare, 122; Review of, by G. 
H. Miles, 549. 

Hampden Controversy, 399, note. 

Hand (Left), her petition, by 
Franklin, 449. 

Hard Times, a novel, by Dickens, 
377. 

Harold, a novel, by Bulwer, 380 ; 
a drama, by Tennyson, 407. 

Haunted Palace {The), by Poe, 
486. 

Hawthorne (Nathaniel), 517; 
spec., 519. 

Hazlitt (William, 1778-1830), an 
English critic, on Gray, 235. 




580 


INDEX. 


Heart of Midlothian, a novel, by- 
Scott, 301. 

Heoker (Isaac Thomas), 551; on 
Emerson, 542. 

Ilemans (Mrs. Felicia), 422. 

Henry of Huntingdon, 47. 

Henry (Patrick, 1736-1797), his 
eloquence, 442; Life, by Wirt, 
475. 

Henry (Robert, a Scotch histo- ; 
rian, 1718-1790), on St. Aid- 
helm’s scholarship, 17. 

Henry III. ( Proclamation by), 49, 
50; Henry IV. and Henry V., 
57. 

Henry IV., V., VI, VIII., his¬ 
torical dramas, by Shakespeare, 
122; ext,, 131, 132. 

Henryson (Robert), 86. 

Heptarchy (Anglo-Saxon), 5. 

Herbert (Edward, Baron of Cher- 
bury, 1581-1648), a deistical 
writer, 95. 

Herbert (George), 150; his Life, 
written by Walton, 188. 

Herbert (Lady) of Lea, 431. 

Hermit ( The), a poem, by Par¬ 
nell, 281. 

Heroes, by Carlyle, 391. 

Heroic {The) in Poetry, by Car¬ 
lyle, 391. 

Herrick (Robert), 187. _ 

Hewit (Rev. Augustine F.), 
553. 

Hiawatha, by Longfellow, 545. 

Hidden Gem , a religious drama, 
by Card. Wiseman, 372. 

Higden (Ranulph), 54. 

Hillhouse (James A.), 478. 

Hind {The) and Panther, a con¬ 
troversial poem, by Dryden, 
178; ext., 179. 

Historical Disquisition on India, 
by Robertson, 261. 

History, by Dryden, 185; by 
Crabbe, 312. 

History (Ecclesiastical), by Bede, 
19; quoted, 20; translated by 
Alfred, 26. 

History of America, by Robert¬ 
son, 261. 


History of Animated Nature, by 
Goldsmith, 244. 

History of Brazil, by Southey, 
321. 

History of Charles V., by Robert¬ 
son, 261. 

History of Edward V, of his 
brother , and of Richard III., 
by Sir Thomas More, 79. 

History of England, by Robert 
of Gloucester, 54; by Smol¬ 
lett, 283; by Lingard, 344; 
ext., 347; by Macaulay, 360; 
ext., 361. 

History ( Child's) of England, by 
Dickens, 377. 

History . {Constitutional) of Eng¬ 
land, by Hallam, 356, 360. 

Histoi'y of Europe, by Alison, 
426. 

History of Frederick the Great, by 
Carlyle, 391; ext., 392. 

History of Great Britain, by 
Hume, 249; ext., 251. 

History of Ireland, by Moore, 
351; by D. McGee, 560. 

History of John Bidl and Brother 
Jonathan, by Paulding, 512. 

History of Maryland, by Mc- 
Sherry, 561. 

History of New Hampshire, by 
Belknap, 453. 

History of New York, by Knick¬ 
erbocker (Washington Irving), 
506; ext., 509. 

History of Philip II., by Prescott, 
503. 

History of Home, by Arnold, 
423. 

History of Scotland, by Robert¬ 
son, 261; by Scott, 302. 

History of South Carolina, by 
Ramsay, 456; by Simms, 561. 

History of Spanish Literature, by 
Tieknor, 526. 

History of the American Navy, 
by Cooper, 490. 

History of the American Revolu¬ 
tion, by Ramsay, 456. 

Histoi'y of the Britons, by Geof¬ 
frey of Monmouth, 47. 





INDEX. 


581 


History of the Conquest of Ireland, 
by Giraldus, 47. 

History of the Decline and Fall of 
the Roman Empire, by Gibbon, 
263; ext., 266. 

History of the Peninsular War, by 
Southey, 321. 

History of the Protestant Reforma¬ 
tion, by M. J. Spalding, 528. 

History of the Rebellion, by Claren¬ 
don, 187. 

History of the Reign of Henry 
VII., by Bacon, 137. 

History of the United States, by 
Bancroft, 553; ext., 554. 

History of the World, by Kaleigh, 
149. 

History of the United Netherlands, 
by Motley, 562. 

History of the Reformation of the 
Church of England, by Burnett, 

281. 

History of the New Netherlands, by 
O’Callaghan, 562. 

History of his own Times, by‘Bur¬ 
nett, 281. 

History (The) of a Young Lady, 
a novel, by Richardson, 282 

History of Edward IV., by Wm. 
Habington, 186. 

History (Catholic) of North Amer¬ 
ica, by D’Arcy McGee, 560. 

Hobbes (Thomas, 1588-1679), an 
infidel writer, 95. 

Hogg (James), 422. 

Hohenlinden, an ode, by Camp¬ 
bell, 325. 

Holbein (John, 1495-1554), a 
Swiss painter, favored by Hen¬ 
ry VIII., 80. 

Holinshed (Raphael, d. about 
1589), an English chronicler, 
122 

Holmes (O. W.), 566. 

Holy Ghost (Temporal Mission of 
the), an essay, by Card. Man¬ 
ning, 401. 

Holy See (Independence of the), an 
essay, by Card. Manning, 401. 

Home, Sweet Home, by J. II.Payne, 
559. 


Homer, translated, by Pope, 207 ; 
by Cowper, 278; by Bryant,537. 

Homilies, by iElfric, 28. 

Honeysuckle (The Wild), by Fre¬ 
neau, 468. 

Hood (Thomas), 423. 

Hooker (Richard), 148; his Life, 
written by Walton, 188. 

Hope (Pleasures of), by Campbell, 
325; ext., 327. 

Hope (Memory), an allegory, by 
Paulding, 5i4. 

Hopkinson (Joseph), author of 
Hail Columbia, 556. 

Hopkinson (Francis), 452. 

Horae Syriacce, by Wiseman, 370. 

Horseshoe Robinson, a novel, by J. 
P. Kennedy, 558. 

Hours of Idleness, by Byron, 293. 

House of Fame, an allegorical 
poem, by Chaucer, 63. 

House of the Seven Gables, by 
Hawthorne, 518. 

Hoveden, 47. 

How to be Happy, by Mrs. Sigour¬ 
ney, 500. 

Howells (William D.), on novel¬ 
reading, 309. 

Iludibras, by S. Butler, 172; ext., 
173. 

Hughes (John), Archbishop of 
New York, 248. 

Hume (David), 248; spec., 251. 

Humor, by S. Smith, 332. 

Humphrey Clinker, a novel, by 
Smollett, 283. 

Hunt (Leigh), 425. 

Huntingdon (Henry of), 47. 

Huntingdon (J. V.), 556. 

Huxley (Thomas H., 1825- ), 

an English infidel naturalist, 
95, 285. 

Hibernice (Topographia), by Giral¬ 
dus, 47. 

Hyde (Edward), Earl of Claren¬ 
don, 187. 

Hymn of the City, by Bryant, 537. 

Hymn to Contentment, by Parnell, 
281. 

Hymn to the Virgin, by Scott, 
303. 




582 


INDEX. 


Hymn to the Mother of God, by 
Poe, 485. 

Hymns, by Fr. Faber, 368. 

Hyperion, by Keats, 287; a ro¬ 
mance, by Longfellow, 545. 

I. 

Idler (The), a periodical, by John¬ 
son, 254. 

Idylls of the King, by Tennyson, 
404; ext., 405. 

II Penseroso, an ode, by Milton, 
158; ext., 160. 

Iliad (The), translation by Pope, 
207 ; by Cowper, 278 ; by Bry¬ 
ant, 537. 

Imaginary Coversations, by Lan- 
dor, 426. 

Immortality of the Soul, an ode, by 
Wordsworth, ext., 338. 

Impressions of Theophrastus Such, 
by George Eliot, 388. 

In Memorimn, by Tennyson, 406. 

Inchcape Pock (The), by Southey, 
323. 

India, by Robertson, 261. 

Indian (An) at the Grave of his 
Fathers, by Bryant, 537. 

Indian (The) Burying Ground, by 
Freneau, 468. 

Indian (The) Emperor, a play, by 
Dryden, 177. 

Indian (The) Student, by Freneau, 
468. 

Induction, by Sackville, 116. 

Infallibility (Pastoral on), by M. J. 
Spalding, 528. 

Ingulf, 46. 

Inscription for an Entrance into a 
Wood, by Bryant, 536. 

Inspector (The) of the Custom 
Blouse, by Hawthorne, 519. 

Ireland, ber literature, 12; Letter 
on, by Card. Manning, 401. 

Ireland (History of the Conquest), 
by Giraldus Cambrensis, 47. 

Irene, a tragedy, by Johnson, 254. 

Irish language and literature, 12. 

Irish Melodies, by Moore, 350; 
ext., 353. 

Irving (Washington), 496; spec., 


506; compared with Prescott,. 
509 ; on Bryant’s writings, 537. 

Isaacs (Mr.), a novel, by Craw¬ 
ford, 568. 

Isabella, by Keats, 287. 

Italy, a poem, by Rogers, 425. 

Ivanhoe, a novel, by Scott, 301; 
ext., 303. 

Ives (Levi Silliman), 560. 

limy, a lyric poem, by Macaulay, 
360. 

J. 

James I., of Scotland, 86. 

Jane Eyre, a novel, by Charlotte 
Bronte, 425. 

Jane Talbot, a novel, by Brown, 
473. 

January and May, by Pope, 208. 

Jay (John), 463 ; spec., 464. 

Jefferson (Thomas), 458; spec., ’ 
461. 

Jeffrey (Lord), 340; spec., 342; 
on the authors in Queen Anne’s 
time, 189 ; on Byron’s writings, 
295. 

Jekyll (Dr.) and Mr. Hyde, a novel, 
by Stephenson, 433. 

Jerrold (Douglas Wm., 1803- 
1857), an English humorist, 
on Hood, 423. 

Jesuits (Persecution of the) in 
England, by Hume, 251. 

Jesuits in North America ( The), by 
Parkman, 556. 

Jew (The) of Malta, a drama, by 
Marlowe, 148. 

Joan of Arc, an epic poem, by 
Southey, 320. 

John Bull in America, a satire, by 
Paulding, 513. 

John (King), a tragedy, by Shake¬ 
speare, 122; ext., 127.* 

John Gilpin, a ballad, by Cowper, 
277. 

John of Salisbury, 45; on the 
Trivium and Quadrivium, 39. 

John of Trevisa, 54. 

Johnson (Samuel), 253; spec., 
257; on Shakespeare, 121, 257; 
on Addison, 191 ; on Robinson 



INDEX. 


583 


Crusoe, 202; on Pope’s Homer, 
207 ; on Pope’s filial piety, 209 ; 
on Swift’s poetry, 216; on 
Thomson, 220; on William 
Collins, 226 ; on Night Thoughts , 
232; on Gray’s Epistles, 235; 
on Goldsmith, 244; on Bur¬ 
nett, 281. 

Johnston and Browne, on Eliza¬ 
bethan writers, 103; on Shel¬ 
ley, 290. 

Jonathan Wild, a novel, by Field¬ 
ing, 282. 

Johnson (Ben), 141; spec., 142; 
on Southwell, 104; on Shake¬ 
speare, 143. 

Joseph Andrewes, a novel, by 
Fielding, 282. 

Journal (The) of the Plague, by 
Defoe, 202; ext., 203. 

Journey to the Western Islands of 
Scotland, by Johnson, 255. 

Judith, step-mother of Alfred the 
Great, 24. 

Julius Caesar, a tragedy, by Shake¬ 
speare, 122. 

June, a poem, by Brvant, 537. 

Junius (Letters of), 240. 

Jutes, a Germanic tribe, invade 
Britain, 4. 

K. 

Kavanagh, a tale, by Longfellow, 
545. 

Kay, first poet-laureate, 57. 

Keane (Life of Edmund ), by Bar¬ 
ry Cornwall, 427. 

Keats (John), 287 ; spec., 288. 

Keble (John), 426. 

Kegs (Battle of the), a ballad, by 
Hopkinson, 452. 

Kenilworth, a novel, by Scott, 301. 

Kennedy (John Pendleton), 561. 

Kenriek (Francis P., 1797-1863), 
an eminent American divine, 
472. 

Kent (Chancellor, 1763-1847), on 
Hallam’s Literature, 357. 

Key (Francis Scott), author of 
The Star - Spangled Banner, 

• 558. 


Key into the Language of America, 
by Roger Williams, 439. 

King John, a historical play, by 
Shakespeare, 122; ext., 127. 

King’s Quhair, by James I., of 
Scotland, 86. 

Kipling (Rudyard), 433. 

Knighthood in the Lists, by 
Scott, 303. 

Kniqhts ( The) of St John, a poem, 
by Faber, 367. 

Konigsmark, a novel, by Pauld¬ 
ing, 513. 

L. 

La Saisiaz, a poem, by Robert 
Browning, 431. 

La Salle and the Discovery of the 
Great West., by Park man, 556. 

Labor (Dignity and Rights of), by 
Card. Manning, 401. 

Lady {The) of Lyons, a play, by 
Bulti'cr, 381. 

Lady (The) of the Lake, a roman¬ 
tic poem, by Soott, 300; ext., 
303. 

Lady-Bird, a novel, by Lady 
Fullerton, 429. 

Lake Poets, 314. 

Lalla Rookh, a romantic poem, 
by Moore. 350. 

L’Allegro, an ode, by Milton, 158. 

Lamb i v Charles), 317 ; spec., 318; 
Memoir of, by Barry Cornwall, 
427. 

Lamia, a poem, by Keats, 287. 

Lamps of Architecture (The Seven), 
by Ruskin, 417. 

Lancelot (Sir), a poem, by Faber, 
367; ext., 369. 

Landor (Walter Savage), 426. 

Lanfranc (Archbishop), 42. 

Langlande (Robert or William), 
87'. 

i Langton (Cardinal), 46. 

j Langtoft (Peter, flor. after 1400), 
a writer of French verses, 54. 

! Languages (Table of), xxiii., 
xxiv. 

Langue d’oc and Langued’oyl, 33. 

J Lanier (Sidney), 562. 





584 


INDEX. 


Last {The) Man , a poem, by [ 
Campbell, 326. 

Lad ( The) of the Mohicans , a! 
novel, by Cooper, 490. 

Latin Language, its preservation, [ 
35. 

Laureate (First Poet), 57. 

Lay ( The) of the Last Minstrel, a 
romantic poem, by Scott, 300. 

Lay {The) Preacher , by Dennie, 
474. 

Lay of the Scotch Fiddler, by 
Paulding, 512. 

Layamon, 47 ; spec., 48. 

Lays of Ancient Home, by Ma¬ 
caulay, 359. 

Lear {King), a tragedy, by Shake¬ 
speare, 122. 

Learning {Modern), a satire, by 
Hopkinson, 452. 

Lectures, by Cardinal Wiseman, 
370, 372. 

Lectures on Shakespeare, by Col¬ 
eridge, 313. ^ 

Lectures on the English Humorists 
of the 18th Century and the Four 
Georges, by Thackeray, 364; 
ext., 366. 

Legare (Hugh Swinton), 558. 

Legend {The) of Montrose, a novel, 
by Scott, 301. 

Ije.qend {The Beautiful), by Long¬ 
fellow, 548. 

Legend {The Golden), by Long¬ 
fellow, 545. 

Legends of St. Patrick, by Aubrey 
de Vere, 414. 

Legends of Saxon Saints, by Au¬ 
brey de Vere, 414. 

Legends of the Conquest of Spain, 
by Irving, 508. 

heland (John, d. 1552), an emi¬ 
nent English antiquary, 89. 

Leo II. (St.), 10. 

Leo X., his Life, by Roscoe, 421. 

Leo XII., his vindication of Lin- 
gard, 346. 

Leonine verses, 10. 

Letter to a Noble Lord, by Bul'ke, 
274. 

Letter to his Wife, by Steele, 201. 


Letter to Lady More, by Sir T. 
More, 80. 

Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield, by 
Johnson, 259. 

Letters (Roman), 11. 

Letters, by Lanfrauc, 43; by St. 
Anselm, 44; by John of Salis¬ 
bury, 46; by Pope, 208; by 
Walpole, 284; by Jefferson, 
460. 


Letter's and Journal of George 
Eliot, 388. 

Letters and Speeches of Cromwell, 
by Carlyle, 391. 

Letters from the South, by Camp¬ 
bell, 326. 

Letters of a Traveller, by Bryant, 
536. 

Letters of Junius, 240 ; ext., 241. 

letters of Peter Plymley, by Sid¬ 
ney Smith, 330. 

Letters of the British Spy, studies 
of eloquence, by Wirt, 475. 

Letters on a Regicide Peace, by 
Burke, 274. 


Letters to Mothers, —to my Pupils, 
—to Young Ladies, by Mrs. 
Sigourney, 500. 

Lever (Charles), 427. 

Lewes (Mrs. Marian), George 
Eliot, 387. 

Lewis (John, S. J., 1721-1788), 
a poem by, 436. 

Liberalism and the Church, by 
Brownson, 533. 

Liberty, a poem, by Thomson, 
221 . 


Liberty, an ode, by W. Collins, 
226. 


Libraries (Ancient), 37. 

Library {The), a poem, by Crabbe, 
310; ext., 312. 

Life (Human), a poem, by Rogers, 


Life of A bp. Spalding, by Bp. 
Spalding, 568. 

Life {The) ami Times of Petrarch, 
by Campbell, 326. 

Life and Tunes of Bp. Flaget, 528. 
Life of Alexander the Great, by 
Adam Davie, 55. 







INDEX. 


585 


Life of Bunyan, by Southey, 
322. 

Life of Byron , by T. Moore, 350. 

Life of Charles V., after his Abdi¬ 
cation, by Prescott, 504. 

Life of Columbus, by Irving, 507. 

Life of Couper, by Southey, 322. 

Life of Emerson, by O. W. Holmes, 
56(5. 

Life of Francis Marion, by W. G. 
Simms, 561. 

Life of Franklin , by Sparks, 524. 

Life of George Eliot, 38S. 

Life of Goldsmith, by Irving, 508. 

Life of Gouverneur Morris, by 
Sparks, 524. 

Life of John Smith, by W. G. 
Simms, 561. 

JAfe of Johnson, by Boswell, 256. 

Life of J. P. Kennedy, by Tuek- 
erman, 561. 

IAfe of Leo X., by Boscoe, 421. 

Life of Lorenzo de’ Medici, by 
Boscoe, 421. 

Life of Mary, Queen of Scots, by 
X. D. McLeod, 560. 

Life ( The ) of Mrs. Siddons, by 
Campbell, 326. 

Life of Napoleon, by Scott, 302. 

Life of Nelson, by Southey, 322. 

Life of Patrick Henry, by Wirt, 
475. 

Life of Prescott, by Tick nor, 526. 

Life of St Thomas d Becket, by 
John of Salisbury, 46. 

Life of Savage, by Johnson, 253. 

Life of Schiller, by Carlyle, 390. 

IAfe of Sheridan, by Moore, 350. 

Life of Sterling, by Carlyle, 391. 

Life of Washington, by Bamsay, 
456; —, by Marshall, 477 ; —, 
bv Irving, 508;—, by J. Sparks, 
524. 

Life of I). Webster (Remarks on 
the), by Ticknor, 526. 

Life of Wesley, by Southey, 322. 

Life of William the Conqueror, by 
Lanfranc, 43. 

Life of William Wirt, by J. P. 
Kennedy^ 548. 

Lindsay, a Scotch poet, 87. 


Lingard (John), 314; spec., 347; 
on St. Aldhelm, 18. 

Lionel Lincoln, a novel, by Cooper, 
490. 

Literature, influence of the Cath¬ 
olic Church on —, see Church ; 
influence of the Beformation 
on —, see Beformation ; Amer¬ 
ican —, see American ; English 
—, see English ; Catholic Liter¬ 
ature in England in the 19th 
century, 286 ; in the U. S., 436, 
443, 472. 

Literature of Europe, by Hal lam, 
35 i • 

Literature (Spanish), by Ticknor, 
526. 

Little Dorrit, a novel, by Dickens, 
377. 

Lives of British Admirals, by 
Southey, 322. 

Lives of the Poets, by Johnson, 
255. 

Lives of the Saints, by Alban But¬ 
ler, 283. 

LochiePs Warning, by Campbell, 
326. 

Locksley Hall, a poem, by Tenny¬ 
son, 406. 

Logan, James, 440. 

London, a satire, by Johnson, 253. 

London (A View of), by Faber, 
368. 

Longfellow (Henry Wadsworth), 
544; spec., 546. 

Loretto, a tale, by G. H. Miles, 
562. 

Lord’s Prayer, in Anglo-Saxon, 8. 

Loss and Gain, a story, by Card. 
Newman, 395. 

Lost (The) Leader, a poem, by 
Bobert Browning, 430. 

Lost Writings, 30, 90. 

Lothair, a novel, by Disraeli, 
428. 

Lover (Samuel), 427. 

Lover (The Lying), a comedy, by 
Steele, 197. 

Lovers ( The Conscious), a comedy, 
by Steele, 198. 

Lowell (James Bussel), 564. 




586 


INDEX. 


Lycidas, a monody, by Milton, 
158. 

Lydgate (John), 75; spec., ibid. 

Lvly, John, the parent of Eu¬ 
phuism, 103, note. 

Lyrical Ballads, by Wordsworth, 
334. 

Lytton (Lord), see Bulwer-Ly(ton. 

M. 

Macaulay (Thomas Babington, 
Lord), 359; spec., 361; on Pil¬ 
grim’s Progress, 176; on Dry- 
den’s Hind and Panther, 179; 
on Defoe’s tracts, 202; on Gold¬ 
smith, 245; on Johnson’s last 
moments, 257 ; on Byron, 295; 
on Southey, 322; on Hallam, 
356. 

J\[acbeth, by Shakespeare, 122. 

MaeCarthy (Denis Florence), 428. 

Me Pinged, a burlesque, by Trum¬ 
bull, 466. 

Mac-Flccknoe, a satire, by Dryden, 
178. 

McGee (Hon. T. D’Arcy), 560. 

McLeod (Xavier Donald), 560. 

Macpherson (James), 420. 

McSherrv (James), 561. 

Madison (James), 469. 

Madoc, an epic poem, by Southev, 
320. 

Mahomet and his Successors, by 
Irving, 508. 

Magazine (The U. S. Catholic), 
founded in Baltimore in 1842, 
by M. J. Spalding and C. 1. 
White, 472. 

Maistre,De (1754-1821), a French 
Catholic writer,138; on Hume’s 
and Gibbon’s works, 249. 

Malmesbury (Wm.of), 46; on St. 
Aldhelm, 17. 

Man (The) of Ninety, by Freneau, 
468. 

Mandeville (Sir John), 58; spec., 
59. 

Manfred, a drama, by Byron, 294. 

Manning (Henry Edward), Cardi¬ 
nal, 398; spec., 402. 

Mannvng (Robert), 54. 


Manual of Parliamentary Practice, 
by Jeflerson, 460. 

Marble■ Faun, a novel, by Haw¬ 
thorne, 518. 

Marie Antoinette, by Burke, 276. 

Marlowe (Christopher), 148. 

Marmion, a romantic poem, by 
Scott, 300. 

Marryat (Captain), 424. 

Marsh (G. P., 1801-1882), an 
American philologist, 55. 

Marshall (John), 476. 

Marshall (Thomas William), 
382; si>ec., 385; on Scott, 
302. 

Martineau (Miss Harriet), 427. 

| Martin (Gregory), the principal 
translator of the Douay Bible, 
146. 

j Martin Chuzzlewit t a novel, by 
Dickens, 377. 

Martyrdom of St. Pancratius, by 
Cardinal Wiseman, 373. 

! Mary ( Ave to), by D. G. Rossetti, 
429. 

j Maryland , my Maryland, a lyric, 
by J. R. Randall, 568. 

Mary Lee, a novel, by John Boyce, 
559. 

Mary (Derotion to) in North Amer¬ 
ica, by X. D. McLeod, 560. 

Alary, Queen of Scots, by Meline, 
562. 

j Mary Magdalen’s Funeral Tears, 
by Southwell, 105 

! Mass, by Newman, 397. 

Massinger (Philip), 150. 

Masters (Annals of the Four), 
146. 

Mather (Cotton, 1663-1728), his 
Epitaph of Wiggles worth, 440. 

Aland , a poem, by Tennyson. 

May to April, by Freneau, 468. 

May Carols, bv Aubrey de Yere, 
414. 

Aleat out of the Eater , by Wiggles- 
worth, 440. 

Aleditations, by Challoner, 284. 

Meline (James F.), 562. 

Alelodies ( Irish), by Moore, 350; 
ext., 353. 






INDEX. 


587 


Memoir of Motley, by O. W. 
Holmes, 56(3. 

Memoir of Charles Lamb , by Barry 
Cornwall, 427. 

Memoirs, by Charles Butler, 422. 

Memoirs of a Cavalier, by Defoe, 

202 . 

Memoirs of Walpole, 284. 

Memoirs (The) of Captain Rock , 
by Moore, 351. 

Memoirs of Ledyard, by Sparks, 
524. 

Memoirs of Missionary Priests, by 
Challoner, 284. 

Memoriam (In), by Tennvson, 
407. 

Memory (The Pleasures of), by 
Rogers, 425. 

Memory and Hope, an allegory, by 
Paulding, 514. 

Merchant of Venice, a comedy, by 
Shakespeare, 121; ext., 125. 

Mervyn, a novel, by Brown, 473. 

Messiah, a poem, by Pope, 208. 

Metalogicus, by John of Salisbury, 
39, 45. 

Method (Scholastic), 41. 

Metropolitan (The), founded in 
1853, in Baltimore, 472. 

Mexico (Conquest of), by Prescott, 
503; ext., 505. 

Middle Ages, by Hal lam, 356. 

Middle English, 56. 

Middlemarch, a novel, by George 
Eliot, 387. 

Miles (George Henry), 561. 

Miles Standish, by Longfellow, 
545. 

Mill (The) on the Floss , a novel, 
by George Eliot, 387. 

Milner (John), 421. 

Milton (John), 158; spec., 163. 

Minot (Lawrence), 87. 

Mind (Disease of the), a satire, by 
Hopkinson, 452. 

Minstrel (The), a didactic poem, 
by Beattie, 420. 

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
300. 

Mirror for Magistrates, by Sack- 
ville, 116. 


Mirza (The Vision of), an allego¬ 
ry, by Addison, 192. 

Miscellanea, by M. J. Spalding,. 
528. 

Miscellaneous Poems , by Keats, 
287. 

Miscellanies, poetry, by Pope, 208; 
essays, by Card. Manning, 401. 

Miscellanies (Biographical and 
Critical), by Prescott, 504. 

Miscellany (The U. S. Catholic), 
founded in Charleston, in 1822, 
by John England, 472, 480. 

Missions ( Christian), by T. W. M. 
Marshall, 383. 

Missionary Priests, by Challoner, 
284. 

Mode of Conducting a Quarrel, a 
satire, by Hopkinson, 452. 

Modern Chivalry, by Bracken- 
ridge, 457. 

Modern Learning, by Francis 
Hopkinson, 452. 

Modern Painters, by Ruskin, 417 ; 
ext., 419. 

Mohammed, a tragedy, by G. H. 
Miles, 561. 

Molmutine Laws, 14. 

Monaldi, a novel, by Allston, 483. 

Monasteries and Monks, in con¬ 
nection with literature, 36; 
their vindication, by Schlegel, 
37. 

Monastery (The), a novel, by Scott, 
301. 

Monmouth (Geoffrey of), 47. 

Monologium, by St. Anselm, 44. 

Montalembert (Count de, 1810- 
1870), an eminent French 
Catholic, 12. 

Montcalm and Wolf, by Parkman, 
556. 

Montgomery (James), 424. 

Moondyne, a story, by J. B. 
O’Reilly, 564. 

Moore (Thomas), 349 ; spec., 351. 

Moralities, a species of plays, 119. 

Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse, 
by Mrs. Sigourney, 500. 

More (Blessed Tlios.), 78; spec., 

80 . 



588 


INDEX. 


Morituri Scdutamus, a poem, by 
Longfellow, 544. 

Morris (William), 432. 

Mode d’Arthur, a poem, by Ten¬ 
nyson, 404, 405. 

Mosheim (1694-1755), a Protest¬ 
ant historian, on St. Anselm, 
44. 

Mosses from an Old Manse, a 
novel,'by Hawthorne, 518. 

Mother Hubbard’s Tale, by Spen¬ 
ser, 109. 

Motley (John Lothrop), 559. 

Mx/ Novel, a novel, by Bulvver, 
380. 

My Study Windows, criticisms, by 
J. R. Lowell, 564. 

Mysteries or Miracle Plays, 119. 

N. 

Napier (Sir William), 426. 

Napoleon (Life of), by Scott, 302. 

Nativity of Christ (Ode on the), by 
Milton, 158, 169. 

Navy (History of the) of the U. S., 
by Cooper, 490. 

Nelson (Life of), by Southey, 322. 

Neot (St.), director of Alfred the 
Great, 25. 

New ( A ) Way to pay Old Debts, a 
play, by Massinger, 150. 

Newcomcs ( The), a novel, by 
Thackeray, 364. 

Newman (John Henry, Cardi¬ 
nal), 393; spec., 396; on Uni¬ 
versities, 41; on literature in 
the 19th century, 285. 

Newsletter (Boston Weekly), the 
first newspaper in America, 
437. 

Nicholas V. (1398-1455),-pope, 
and the Vatican Library, 100. 

Nicholas Nickleby, a novel, by 
Dickens, 376. 

Night-piece on Death, bv Parnell, 
281. 

Night Thoughts, by Young, 232, 
233. 

Nodes Anibrosiamr, by John Wil¬ 
son, 424. 

Norman-French, 33. 


Normans (The), their character, 
31; influence in England, 33. 

North American Review, see Re¬ 
view. 

Novels and Novel-reading, 306; 
danger from the sensational 
novel, 472. 

Novum Organum, by Lord Bacon, 
137. 

O. 

O’Callaghan (Dr. Edmund Bai¬ 
ley), 562. 

Ocean (Apostrophe to the), by By¬ 
ron, 296. 

O’Cleary (Michael), the princi¬ 
pal of tiie Four Masters, 147. 

O’Connell (Daniel, 1775-1847), 
one of the founders of the 
Dublin Review, 286, note; on 
Thomas Davis, 424. 

O’Connell and his friends, by 
D’Arcy McGee, 560. 

O’Curry (Eugene), 426; on the 
Annals of the Four Masters, 
147. 

O’Donovan (John, 1809-1861), 
an Irish archaeologist, 147. 

Ode on Eton College, by Gray, 
235; — on Immortality, by 
Wordsworth, 338 ; — on Soli¬ 
tude, by Pope, 206, 210; — on 
the Nativity, by Milton, 158, 
169; — on the Passions, by Col¬ 
lins, 226, 227 ; — to Evening, by 
Collins, 226, 230; — to Fear, by 
Collins, 226; — to Mount Blanc, 
by Coleridge. 313; — to St, Ce¬ 
cilia, by Dry den, 179, 182. 

Odes (Pindaric), by Cowley, 154; 
ext., 155. 

Odes of Anacreon, translation of, 
by Moore, 349. 

Odyssey, translated by Wm. Mor¬ 
ris, 432. 

Ogilby (John, 1600-1676), a 
translator of Horner and Vir¬ 
gil into English verse, 206. 

: Old Cariosity Shop, a novel, by 

1 Dickens, 376. 

Old English Period, 48. 






INDEX. 


589 


Old Mortality , a novel, bv Scott, 
301. 

Oliver Twist, a novel, by Dickens, 
370. 

Opium Eater (Confessions of an), 
by De Quincey, 425. 

Opus Majus, by Roger Bacon, 
52. 

Ordericus, 40. 

Oregon Trail (The California and), 
by Parkman, 524. 

O’Reilly (Boyle), 401, 550. 

Ormond, a novel, by Brown, 473. 

Ormidum {The), 48. 

Orphan {The), a tragedy, by Ot¬ 
way, 188. 

Orosius (Paul), a Spanish histo¬ 
rian of the 5th century, best 
known by his Historiarum ad- 
versus Paganos libri vii., 20. 

Osburga, mother of Alfred the 
Great, 24. 

Oswald, St., 28. 

Othello, a tragedy, by Shakespeare, 

122 . 

Otis (James), 442, 444. 

Otway (Thomas), 188. 

Our Mutual Friend, a tale, by 
Dickens, 377. 

Outre Mer, by Longfellow, 515. 

Ovid’s Metamorphoses, by Sandys, 
437. 

Oxford, First origin of the Uni¬ 
versity of, 25; number of its 
students in 1231, 35. 

Oxford Movement, 280. 

Ozyrnandias, by Shelley, 292. 

P. 

Padalon, or, the Indian Hades, 
322. 

Pamela, a novel, by Richardson, 
282. 

Papal supremacy contributed to 
the preservation of Latin, 30. 

Paracelsus, a poem, by Robert 
Browning, 430. 

Paradise {The Earthly), by Wil¬ 
liam Morris, 432. 

Paradise Lost, by Milton, 100; 
ext., 103. 


Paradise Regained, bv Milton, 

101 . 

Parallel between Addison and 
Johnson, 250; between Pope 
and Dryden, by Johnson, 258; 
between Cicero and St. Augus¬ 
tine, by Allies, 412. 

Parish {The) Register, a poem, by 
Crabbe, 311. 

Parkman (Francis), 550; spec., 
557. 

Parnell (Thomas), 281. 

Parody on a Celebrated. Letter, a 
satire, by Moore, 350. 

Parsons (Robert), 149. 

Pastoral Ballad, by Shenstone, 282. 

Pastoral Care, translated by King 

j Alfred, 20. 

Pastorals, by Pope, 207. 

Pathfinder [The), a novel, by 
Cooper, 489. 

Patmore (Coventry), 431. 

PatofF (Paul), a novel, by Craw¬ 
ford, 568. 

Paulding (James K.),512; spec., 
514. 

Pauline, a poem, by Robt. Brown¬ 
ing, 430. 

Payne (J. H.), author of Home, 
Sweet Home, 559. 

Peacham (Henry, flor. in the First 
quarter of the 18th century), 
the author of the Compleat 
Gentleman, 73. 

Pelasgic Race, 1. 

Pendennis, a novel, by Thackeray, 
304. 

Per Crvcem ad Lucem, miscella¬ 
neous writings, by T. W. Allies, 
412. 

Peregrine Pickle, a novel, bv Smol¬ 
lett, 283. 

Pericles, Prince of Tyre, a tragedy, 
by Shakespeare, 121. 

Persecution of the Jesuits in 
England, by Hume, 251. 

Peterborough School, 28. 

Petri Privilegium, an essay, by 
Card. Manning, 401. 

Peveril of the Peak, a novel, by 
Scott, 301. 




590 


INDEX. 


Pickwick Papers , by Dickens, 376. 

Pied {The) Piper of Hamelin, a 
poem, by R. Browning, 430. 

Piers Plowman (The Vision of ), a 
poem, by Langlande, 87. 

Piers Plowman's Orede , by Lang¬ 
lande, 88. 

Pilgrim's Progress, by Bunyan, 
170. 

Pilot {The), a novel, by Cooper, 
489. . 

Pindaric Odes, by Cowley, 154; 
ext., 155. 

Pinckney (Thos., 1750-1828), an 
American general, 480. 

Pinkney _ (William, 1764-1822), 
an eminent American lawyer, 
442. 

Pioneers {The), a novel, by Coop¬ 
er, 490. 

Pioneers of France in the New 
World ( The), by Parkman, 556. 

Pippa Passes, by Robert Brown¬ 
ing, 430. 

Pise (Dr. Constantine), 557. 

Pirate {The), a novel, by Scott, 
301. 


Pleasures {The) of Hope, by Camp¬ 
bell, 325; ext., 327. 

Pleasures ( The) of Memory, by 
Rogers, 425. 

Pleasures of Imagination, by Aken- 
side, 282. 


Pocahontas, a poem, by Mrs. 
Sigourney, 500. 

Poe (Edgar Allan), 484; spec., 
486. 

Poet Laureate (First), 57. 

Poetry {Essay on English), by 
Campbell, 326. 

Poetry {The Progress of), by Gray, 
236. 


Poets {Specimens of the British), by 
Campbell, 326. 

Poland (Fall of), by Campbell, 
327. 


Political Discourses, by Hume, 
249. 


Polycraticus, by John of Salisbury, 
45. 


Polyolbion, by Drayton, 149. 


Pompeii {The Last Days of), a 
novel, by Bulwer, 381. 

Pontiac {The Conspiracy of), by 
Parkman, 546. 

Poor Relations, by Lamb, 318. 

Pope (Alexander), 206; spec., 
210; compared with Dryden, 
by Johnson, 258. 

Portfolio {The), by Dennie, 474. 

Porter (Miss Jane), 424. 

Portrait of Frederick the Great, 
by Carlyle, 392. 

Portrait of Red Jacket, by Hal- 
leck, 521. 

Portrait of Wouter Van Twiller, 
by Irving, 509. 

Potomac (Passage of the) through 
the Blue Ridge, by Jefferson, 
461. 

Prairie {The), a novel,by Cooper, 
490. 

Prayer to our Lady, by Chaucer, 
63, 72. 

Preacher (The Village), by Gold¬ 
smith, 246. 

Precious {The) Blood, by Faber, 
368. 

Prelude {The), by Wordsworth, 
335. 

Prescott (William FT.), 503; spec., 
505; compared with Irving, 
508' Life of —, by Ticknor, 
526. 

Pretty Story , an allegory, by Hop- 
kinson, 452. 

Pride, by Pope, 210. 

Pride and Prejudice, a novel, by 
Jane Austen, 421. 

Priesthood {The Eternal), by Card. 
Manning, 401. 

Princess {The), a poem, by Ten¬ 
nyson, 406. 

Printing-press, its influence on 
the spreading of literature, 
101 . 

Prior, Matthew, 257, note. 

Prisoner' ( The) of Chilian , a story 
in verse, by Byron, 294. 

Proclamation by Henry III., 49. 

Proctor (Adelaide), 426. 

Proctor (Bryan), 427. 




INDEX. 


591 


Progress, by Cardinal Manning, 
402. 

Prologue on the Opening of the 
Drury Lane Theatre, by John¬ 
son, 254, 261. 

Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, 
64, 66. 

Prometheus Unbound, by Shelley, 
289. 

Proslogium , by St. Anselm, 44. 

Prosody (Latin), by Otis, 444. 

Prne, Steele’s wife, 201. 

Psalm (A) of Life, by Longfellow, 
546. 

Psalms (The), the first book pub¬ 
lished in British America, 
436. 

Psalter of Cashel, 13. 

Puritan ( The) and his Daughter, 
by Paulding, 513. 

Puritans (The) of New England, 
435. 

Q 

Quadrivium, 39, 40. 

Qualifications for Government, 
by Burke, 275. 

Queen Mob, by Shelley, 289. 

Queen Mary, a drama, by Tenny¬ 
son, 407. 

Queen ( The) of the Air, by Ruskin, 
417; ext., 418. 

Queen’s Wake, a poem, by Hogg, 
422. 

Quentin Dunvard, a novel, by 
Scott, 301. 

Quinn (Michael J., 1796-1843), 
one of the founders of the Dub¬ 
lin Review, 286, note. 

Quincey (Thomas de), 425.;’ 

R. 

Raleigh (Sir Walter), 149. 

Ralph Roister Doister, the earliest 
English comedy, 119. 

Rambler (The), a periodical, by 
Johnson, 254. 

Ramsay (Allan), 282. 

Ramsav (David), 455. 

Randall (J. R.), author of Mary¬ 
land, My Maryland, 568. 


Rape of the Lock, a poem, by 
Pope, 207. 

Rasselas, by Johnson, 254, 307. 

Raven (The Dyinq), a poem, by 
R. H. Dana, Sen., 540. 

Raven (The), by Poe, 486. 

Reason but an Aid to Faith, by 
Dryden, 181. 

Rechise (The) a projected epic, by 
Wordsworth, 335. 

Recollections of the Last Four Popes, 
by Cardinal Wiseman, 372. 

Red Gauntlet, a novel, by Scott, 
301. 

Red Jacket, a portrait, by Halleck, 
521. 

Red ( The ) Rover, a novel, by Coop¬ 
er, 490. 

Reed (Henry, 1808-1854), an 
American scholar and writer, 
on Shakespeare’s religious spir¬ 
it, 124. 

Rees (Abraham, 1743-1825), on 
novel-reading, 308. 

Reflections on the Revolution in 
France, by Burke, 273, 275. 

Reformation (The Protestant), 
its evil influence on literature 
in general, 92; fine arts, 89; 
philosophy, 94; social order, 
96 ; civil and religious libertv, 
97. 

Reformation (History of the), by 
J. M. Spalding, 528. 

Register (The American), by 
Brown, 474. 

Register (Annual), 274. 

Register (The Parish), a poem, by 
Crabbe, 311. 

Reign of Philip II. (not com¬ 
pleted), by Prescott, 503. 

Reign (The) of Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
bella, by Prescott, 503. 

Relations (Poor), by C. Lamb, 
318. 

Religio Laid, a poem, by Dryden, 
178; ext., 181. 

Religio Medici, by Sir Thomas 
Browne, 188. 

Representative Men, by Emerson, 
542. 



592 


INDEX. 


Republic (The American), by 
Brownson, 533. 

Revenge ( The), a tragedy, by 
Young, 231. 

Review {Monthly), 340, note. 

Review (The London Quarterly), 
340, note. 

Review {The), a periodical, by De¬ 
foe, 201. 

Review {The American), first quar¬ 
terly in the U. S., by Walsh, 
511. 

Review {Brownson), 472, 530, see 
Brownson. 

Review {Catholic Quarterly), 472, 
note. 

Review {The Dublin), see Dublin. 

Review {Edinburgh), see Edin¬ 
burgh. 

Review (North American), on 
Hume’s History, 250; on Mrs. 
Sigourney, 500. 

Review (North British), on Dick- 

• ens, 377. 

Revolt of Islam, a poem, by Shel¬ 
ley, 289. 

Revolution (American), see 
American. 

Revolution {The French), by Car¬ 
lyle, 391. 

Rhode Island, her Charter of 
Religious Rights, 438. 

Richard Ilf., a tragedy, by Shake¬ 
speare, 122; ext., 125. 

Richard III., Character of, by 
Sir T. More, 82. 

Richard’s {Poor) Almanac, by 
Franklin, 44G. 

Richardson (Samuel), 282, 307. 

Richelieu, a play, by Bulwer, 

381. 

Riddles Unriddled, by Wiggles- 
worth, 439. 

Rienzi, a novel, by Bulwer, 380. 

Rights (Charter of Religious) in 
Rhode Island, 438. 

Rights of America , by Jefferson, 


iner, by Coleridge, 313; ext., 
315. 

Ring {The) and, the Book, a poem, 
by Robert Browning, 430. 

Rise ( The) of the Dutch, by Mot¬ 
ley, 562. 

Ritson (1752-1803), an English 
antiquary, 90. 

Rivals ( The), a comedy, by Sheri¬ 
dan, 421. 

Rivals ( The), a story, by G. Grif¬ 
fin, 423. 

Robertson (William), 2G1 ; spec., 
2G2. 

Robin (Abbd), his New Travels, 
443. 

Robinson Crusoe, by Defoe, 201; 
ext., 204; success of, 307. 

Rob of the Boui, a novel, by J. P. 
Kennedy, 561. 

Rob Roy, a novel, by Scott, 301. 

Roderic, a poem, by Southey, 
321. 

Roderic Random., a novel, by 
Smollett, 283. 

Roger de Iloveden, 47. 

Roger de Wendover, 47. 

Rogers (Samuel), 425. 

Rohebn, a romantic poem, by 
Scott. 300. 

Rolle (Richard), 55. 

Roman letters, 11. 

Romances (metrical), their cha¬ 
racter and history, 52. 

Romauvt of the Rose, a poem, by 
Chaucer, G2. 

Rome (Church of), see Church. 

Romola, a novel, by George Eliot, 
387. 

Roof (The New), an allegory, by 
Hopkinson, 452. 

Rohrbacher (1789-185G), a cele¬ 
brated historian of the Church, 
138. 

Roscoe (William), 421. 

Rosemary, by J. V. Huntington, 
559. 


459. 

Rights of the British Colonies, by 
Otis, 445. 

Rime {The) of the Ancient Mar- 


Round Table, 172, note. 

Rugby Chapel, a poem, by Mat¬ 
thew Arnold, 429. 

Ruines of Time, by Spenser, 110. 





INDEX. 


503 


Ride Britannia, an ode, by Thom¬ 
son, 224. 

Rash (1745-1813), Eulogy on Dr., 
by Ramsay, 456. 

Raskin (John), 416; spec., 418; 
on Patmore’s Angel , 432. 

Rutledge (John, 1749-1800), an 
American orator, 442. 

Ryan (Abram J.), 563. 

S. 

Sackville (Thomas), 115; spec., 
116. 

Sacred Songs, by Moore, 350, 
351. 

Sadlier (Mrs. Mary A), 563. 

St. Ronan’s Well, a novel, bv 
Scott, 301. 

Saisiaz {La), a poein, by Robert 
Browning, 431. 

Salisbury (John of), 45. 

Salle ( La) and the Discovery of the 
Great West , by Parkman, 556. 

Salmagundi, 506, 512. 

Samson Agonistes, by Milton, 162. 

Sander (Nicholas), 147. 

Sandys (George), 437. 

Saracinesca, a novel, by M. Craw¬ 
ford, 568. 

Sartor Resartus, by Carlyle, 390. 

Satires, by Pope, 208. 

Saul, a poem, by Robert Brown¬ 
ing, 430. 

Saxon Chronicle, 36. 

Saxons, in 2d and 3d century, 3; 
settle in Britain, 4. 

Scarlet {The) Letter, a novel, by 
Hawthorne, 518; ext., 519. 

Scenes of Clerical Life, by George 
Eliot, 387. 

Sceptic {The), a satire, by Moore, 
351. 

Schlegel (Frederick, 1772-1824), 
on the preservation of Latin, 
35; on monks, 37; on the Ref¬ 
ormation, 97; on Shakespeare, 
123; on Paradise Lost, 16l; on 
Robertson, 262; on Burke, 273; 
on Scott, 299. 

Scholars {Oration on the Pleasures 
of the), by John England, 480. 

38 


Scholastic Method, 41. 

School for Scandal, a comedy, by 
Sheridan, 421. 

Schoolmaster ( The), by Aschain, 82. 

Scott (Sir Walter), 299; spec., 
303; on Dunbar, 86; on Dry- 
den’s prose, and sincerity, 180 ; 
on Defoe, 202. . 

Scotch writers during the 4th 
Period, 85. 

Scottish ( The) Chiefs, a novel, by 
Jane Porter, 424. 

Scout {The), a novel, by W. G. 
Simms, 559. 

Scriptorium, 37. 

Seasons ( The), by Thomson, 220 ; 
ext., 222. 

Seaside and Fireside, by Longfel¬ 
low, 545. 

Sejanus, a tragedy, by Ben Jon- 
son, 142. 

Selden (John, 1584-1654), a 
learned scholar. 

Semi-Saxon period, 31 ; — lan¬ 
guage, 34; — and Anglo-Sax¬ 
on compared, ibid. 

Sensitive Plant {The), by Shellev, 
289. 

Sentimental Journey, by Sterne, 
282. 

Shaftesbury (third Earl of, 1671- 
1713), an infidel writer, 95. 

Shakespeare (William), 120; 
spec., 125; Johnson’s opinion 
of, 125 ; Lectures on, by Cole¬ 
ridge, 313; by Hazlitt, *421. 

Shandy Maquire, a novel, by John 
Boyce, 559. 

She Stoops to Conquer, a comedy, 
by Goldsmith, 244. 

Shea (John Gilmary), 565. 

Sheil (Richard Lawlor), 424. 

Shelley (Percy Bysshe), 289; 
spec., 290. 

Shenstone (William), 282. 

Shepherd’s {The) Calendar, a pas¬ 
toral poem, by Spenser, 109. 

Sheridan (Rich. Brinsley), 420. 

Shirley (James), 186. 

Shortest {The) Way with . the Dis¬ 
senters, by Defoe, 201. 




594 


INDEX. 


Sidney (Sir Philip), 148. 

Sigourney (Mrs. Lydia lluntlev), 
499; spec., 501. 

Silas Manner, a novel, by George 
Eliot, 387. 

Simms (William Gilmore), 561. 

Sketch of a Family, by Mrs. 
Sigourney, 501. 

Sketch-book [The), by Irving, 506. 

Sketches (Historical), by Cardinal 
Newman, 395. 

Sketches by Boz (Dickens), 375. 

Sketches of Greece and Turkey, by 
Aubrey de Vere, 413. 

Sketches of the Irish Bar, by Shell, 
424. 

Sketches of Kentucky , by M. J. 
Spalding, 528. 

Sketches of Switzerland, by Cooper, 
490. 

Skylark ( The), by Shelley, 290. 

Slave-trade and its relation to 
literature and human progress, 
100 . > 

Slavonic race, 1. 

Smith (Rev. Sydnev), 330; ext., 
832 

Smollett (T. B.), 283, 307. 

Soliloquies of St. Augustine, trans¬ 
lated by Alfred, 26. 

Somers (Lord John, 1651-1716), 
an English statesman, 301. 

Song (Bugle), by Tennyson, 408. 

Song (The) of the Shirt, by Hood, 
423. 

Songs (Sacred), by Moore, 350; 
ext., 351. 

Sonnet to our Blessed Lady, by 
Constable, 150. 

Sonnet (The), a sonnet, by Words¬ 
worth, 337. ' 

Sonnets, by Constable, 149. 

Sophonisba, a tragedy, by Thom¬ 
son. 221. 

Sordello, a poem, by Robt. Brown¬ 
ing, 430. 

Soul (Aspirations of the), and, 
Questions of the, two philosoph¬ 
ical works, by I. T. Ilecker, 
552. . 

South (Robert), 281. 


I South Carolina (History of), by D. 
Ramsay, 456; by Simms, 561. 

Southey (Robert), 319; spec., 322. 

Southwell (Robert), 103; spec., 
105. 

Sovereignty (The Fourfold) of God, 
by Card. Manning, 401. 

Spaewife (The), a historical novel, 
by John Boyce, 559. 

Spain, and Glimpses of Spain, two 
works of S. T. Waliis, 566. 

Spalding (M. J., Archbishop), 
527; spec., 529; on the Ref¬ 
ormation in connection with 
the fine arts, 94; on Webster’s 
Bunker Hill speech, 529. 

Spalding (Janies Lancaster), 
Bishop of Peoria, 568. 

Sparks (Jared), 524. 

Spectator (The), 190, 197; ext., 
192. 

Spanish Literature , by Sparks, 524. 

Speculum Meditantis, by Gower, 
74. 

Spelman (Sir Henry, 1562-1641), 
a celebrated antiquary, on Al¬ 
fred the Great, 26. 

Spencer (Herbert, 1820- ), an 

infidel English philosopher, 
95, 285. 

Spenser (Edmund), 109; spec., 

112 . 

Spirit (The) Rapper, by Brown- 
son, 533. 

Spring (Ode on), by Gray, 236. 

Spy (The), a tale, by Cooper, 489. 

Spy (Letters of the British), studies 
on eloquence, by Wirt, 475. 

Star-Spangled (The) Banner, bv 
F. S. Key, 558. 

Steele (Sir Richard), 196; spec., 
198. 

Sterne (Laurence), 282, 307. 

Stevenson (Robert Louis), 433. 

Stewart (Dugald, 1763-1828), a 
Scottish philosopher, 138. 

Stone (Rev. James Kent), 568. 

Stones of Venice, by Rusk in, 433. 

Story-telling, by Steele, 198. 

Stowe (Mrs. Harriet Beecher), 
562. 



INDEX. 


595 


Strafford, a drama, by Robert 
Browning, 430. 

Stuart (Death of Mary), bv Lin- 
gard, 347. 

Studies (Bacon’s Essay on), ext., 
140. 

Styrian (The) Lake, a volume of 
poems, by Faber, 367. 

Surrey (Earl of), 89. 

Swallow , Barn, a novel, by J. P. 
Kennedy, 558. 

Swift (Jonathan), 214; spec., 216; 
liis torture of soul, by Thack¬ 
eray, 366 ; his works, edited by 
Scott, 301. 

Swinburne (Algernon Charles), 
432. 

Switzerland (Sketches of), by F. 
Cooper, 490. 

Syriacee (Havoc),by Cardinal Wise¬ 
man, 370. 

T. 

Tablet (The London) 286, note. 

Tale of a Tub, by Swift, 215. 

Tale (A) of two Cities , by Dick¬ 
ens, 377. 

Tales (Canterbury), by Chaucer, 
64, 66. 

Tales (Twice-told), by Hawthorne, 
517. 

Tales, by Poe. 485. 

Tales and Essays, by R. IT. Dana, 
540. 

Tales in Verse, by Crabbe, 311. 

dales of a Grandfather, by Scott, 
302. 

Tales of a Traveller, bv Irving, 
507.' 

Tales of a Wayside Inn, in verse, 
by Longfellow, 545; ext., 548. 

Tales of my Landlord, by Scott, 
301. 

Tales of the Crusaders , by Scott, 
301. 

Tales of the Hall, in verse, bv 
Crabbe, 311. 

Tales of the Three Wise Men of 
Gotham, by Paulding, 513. 

Tamburlaine, a drama, by Mar¬ 
lowe, 148. 


Tamerlane, see Timonr. 

Tanner (Bishop, 1674-1735), on 
Bede’s learning, 19. 

Task (The), a descriptive poem, 
by Cow per, 277. 

Taller (The), 190, 197 

Taylor (Jeremy), 187. 

Taylor (Sir Henry), 429. 

Tempest (The), a. comedy, by 
Shakespeare, 121, 122. 

Tender Husband (The), a comedy, 
by Steele, 197. 

Tennvson (Alfred), 403; spec., 
408. 

Tensons, 34. 

Testament of Love, by Chaucer, 64. 

Testament, by Lydgate, 75. 

Thackeray (William M.), 362; 
spec., 365. 

Thaddtus of Warsaw, a novel, by 
Jane Porter, 424. 

Thalaba, an epic poem, by South¬ 
ey, 320. 

Thanatopsis. a didactic poem, by 
Bryant, 536, 538. 

Thayer (Rev. John), 443. 

Theodore (Archbishop), sent to 
England, 11. 

Think iceil On’/, by Challoner, 
283. 

Thomas d Becket (Life of St.), by 
John of Salisbury, 46 ; a drama, 
by Tennyson, 407. 

Thomas (St.) of Canterbury, a 
drama, by Aubrey de Yere, 
414; ext., 415. 

Thomson (James), 220; spec., 
222 ; on Sir Thomas More, 80. 

Ticknor (George), 525. 

Timber, by Ben Jonson, 141 ; ext., 
155. 

Timour, his character, by Gib¬ 
bon, 266. 

Tineker (Miss Mary A.), 567. 

Tirocinium, a poem on education, 
by Cow per, 278. 

Toland (John, 1670-1722), an 
apostate and atheistical writer, 
95. 

Tom Jones, a novel, by Fielding, 
282. 




596 


INDEX. 


Tour in Ireland, by Cardinal Wise¬ 
man, 372. 

Tour on the Prairies, by Irving, 
508. 

Toxophilus, by Ascliam, 82, 83. 

Tractate on Education, by Milton, 
158. 

Tragedy (The Divine), by Long¬ 
fellow, 545. 

Trail (The California and Oregon), 
by Park man, 556. 

Traveller (The), by Goldsmith, 
243. 

Traveller's Guide , a burlesque, by 
Paulding, 513. 

Travels , by Sir John Mandeville, 
58; ext., 59. 

Travels in Italy, by Addison, 190. 

Travels in Search of a Religion, by 
Moore, 351. 

Treaty (The), by Hopkinson, 
452. 

Trials of a Mind, by L. S. Ives, 
560. 

Tristram Shandy, a novel, by 
Sterne, 282. 

Triumph over Death, by South- 
well, 105. 

Trivium, 39, 40. 

Trivet, 54. 

Troilus and Creseide, by Chaucer, 
62; — a tragedy, by Shake¬ 
speare, 122. 

Troubadours, 33. 

Trouveres, 33. 

Truce (The) of God, bv II. Miles, 
549. 

Trumbull (John), 465. 

Tuckerman (Henry Theodore), 
571. 

Turkey (Sketches of Greece and,), by 
Aubrey de Vere, 413. 

Turks (Lectures on the), by Car- 
dipal Newman, 395. 

Turner (Sharon, 1768-1847), au¬ 
thor of a History of England, 
8. * 

Twopenny Post Bag, a satire, by 
Moore, 350. 

Tyndall (John, 1820-1893), an in¬ 
fidel English physicist, 95, 285. 


U. 

1 Udall (Nicholas, 1506-1564), au¬ 
thor of Ralph Roister Bolster, 
119. 

Ultramontan ism [Ctesarism and), 
an essav, by Card. Manning, 
401. 

j Uncle Tom, by H. B. Stowe, 566. 

Universities, 40. 

Universities (Lectures on), by Car¬ 
dinal Newman, 395. 

University (Idea of a), by Car¬ 
dinal Newman, 395. 

Utopia, by Sir T. More, 78. 

V. 

Vanity Fair, a novel, by Thack¬ 
eray, 363; ext., 365. 

Vanity (The) of Human Wishes, a 
satire, by Johnson, 253. 

Vatican Decrees and Civil Alle¬ 
giance, by Card. Manning, 401. 

Venice Preserved, a tragedy, by 
Otway, 188. 

Vere (Aubrey de), 413; spec., 
415; on Shakespeare’s rever¬ 
ence for religion, 124; on 
Keats’ poetry, 287. 

Verses on Various Occasions, by 
Cardinal Newman, 395. 

Version (King James's), 146. 

Vicar (The) of Wakefield, a novel, 
by Goldsmith, 244, 307. 

View of Europe during the Middle 
Ages , by Hal lam, 356. 

View of the State of Ireland, by 
Spenser, 111. 

Village ( The), a poem, by Crabbe, 
310. 

Vindication (A), by Lingard, 345. 

Vindication (A) of Natural Society, 
by Burke, 272. 

Virgil, translated by Drvden, 179. 

Virgin (Hymn to the), by Scott, 
303. 

Virgin (The), a sonnet, by Words¬ 
worth, 337. 

Virginia (Notes on), by Jefferson, 
460; ext., 461. 

Virginians (The), a novel, by 
'Thackeray, 364. 







INDEX. 


597 


Virqinitatis (De Laadibus). by St. 
Aldhelm, 18. 

Vision of Don lioderic , a poem, by 
Scott, 300. 

Vision of Mirza, by Addison, 192. 

Vision of Piers Plowman, by Lang- 
lande, 87. 

Vitalis (Ordericus), 46. 

Vivian Grey, a novel, by Disraeli, 
428. 

Volpone, a drama, by Ben Jonson, 

141. 

Vox Clamantis, by Gower, 74. 

Voyages (Life and) of Columbus, by 
Irving, 507. 

Voyages of the Companions of Co¬ 
lumbus, by Irving, 507. 

W. 

Wace (Master), 47. 

Wallace ( The), a poem, by Blind 
Harry, 86. 

Wallenstein (Schiller’s), partly 
translated by Coleridge, 313. 

Waller (Edmund), 188. 

Wallis (Severn T.),566. 

Walloon Romance, 33. 

Walpole (Horace), 284. 

Walsh (Robert), 510. 

Walton (Izaak), 188. 

Ward (William George, 1812- 
1882), an English philosoph¬ 
ical writer, 286, note. 

Warton (Thomas, 1729 -1790), on 
Chaucer, 65; Lydgate, 75. 

Washington (Life of)', by Ramsay, 
456 ; — by Marshall, 477 ;— by 
Irving, 508 ; — by Sparks, 524; 
— his character, by Jefferson, 
462: — Oration on his Character , 
by John England, 480. 

Wat Tyler, a drama, by Southey, 
320. 

Water (The) Witch, a novel, by 
Cooper, 490. 

Waterfowl (To a), by Bryant, 536. 

Waterloo (Battle of), Thackeray, 
365. 

Waverley, a novel, by Scott, 301. 

Webster (Daniel ),494; spec., 497 ; 
on Calhoun, 488. 


Westward IIo ! a novel, by Paul¬ 
ding, 513. 

Wharton (Henry, 1664-1695), a 
learned antiquarian, 281. 

Whitewashing, a satire, by Hop- 
kinson, 452. 

Whipple (Edwin Perry), 563. 

Whittier (John Greenleaf), 564. 

Wicklif (John), 88. 

1 Wieland , a novel, by Brown, 
473. 

Wigglesworth (Michael), 439. 

Williams (Roger), 438. 

William the Conqueror, 32; his 
Life, by Lanfranc, 43. 

Wilson (John), 424. 

Winchcombe School, 28. 

Wing and Wing, a novel, by Coop¬ 
er, 490. 

Winter, by Thomson, 222. 

Wirt (William), 475. 

Wiseman (Cardinal), 370; spec., 
373; on Shakespeare, 122; on 
Lingard, 346; on flume, ibid.; 
on Macaulay, ibid.; on Long¬ 
fellow, 546. 

Wit, by S. Smith, 332. 

Wolfert’s Roost, by Irving, 508. 

Wolsey (Cardinal), his fall, vices, 
and virtues, by Shakespeare, 
132, 435. 

Wood (Robert, 1716-1771), an 
English arclia?ologist, on Sir 
.Kenelm Digby, 186. 

Woodstock, a novel, by Scott, 
301. 

Wolf (Montcalm), bv Parkman, 
5 56. 

Woolston (Thomas, 1669-1731), 
an infidel writer, 95. 

Wordsworth (William), 334; 
spec., 337; on Tennyson, 404. 

Workhouse, by Crabbe, 311. 

World (The Catholic), a magazine, 
461; on novels, 308; on Dr. 
Brownson, 531. 

Wotton (Sir Henry, 1568-1639), 
an English diplomatist and 
writer: on Milton’s Comus, 
158; his Life, bv Izaak Wal¬ 
ton, 188. 





598 


INI'EX. 


X. 

Ximenes (Cardinal, 1436-1517), 
character of, by Robertson, 262. 

Y. 

Year (The Christian), bv Keble, 
426. 

Ye Mariners of England , an ode, 
by Campbell, 325, 328. 

Yemassee , a novel, by W. G. 
Simms, 561. 

Yorke ( r l'lie Mouse of ), a story, by 
Miss Thicker, 567. 


Young (Edward), 231; spec., 
233. 

Young (The) Duke, a novel, by 
Disraeli, 428. 

Z. 

Zanga, the hero in Young’s Re¬ 
venge, 231. 

Zingis (Character of), by Gib¬ 
bon, 266. 

Zinzendorf, a poem, by Mrs. Si¬ 
gourney, 500. 




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